The Wolf and the Lady
by The Jade Samurai
Summary: The Starks are well known across Westeros for their ability to transform into direwolves. When Jon Snow, supposed nephew of Ser Arthur Dayne, goes to King's Landing, he must use every skill and power available to him in order for he and Sansa to survive the pit of Vipers. R plus L equals J. AU. Shape shifter!Starks.
1. Chapter 1- The White Wolf

_A/N- Welcome to my new story! Yes, as you can see this is a Game of Thrones story, in commemoration of that bloody brilliant trailer that dropped yesterday for season 7! This is definitely canon-divergent and R+L does not equal J. And yes, it's a sort of multi pairing thing but will be mainly Jon/Sansa, and there probably will be an alternate companion story to go along with it. This will be mainly compliant with the show's canon, but will definitely diverge into something different. Anyways enjoy._

 **Ages**

 **Jon- 19**

 **Robb- 19**

 **Daenerys- 18**

 **Sansa- 17**

 **Arya- 15**

 **Bran- 12**

 **Rickon- 7**

 **Chapter 1- The White Wolf**

Jon Snow, The Bastard on Winterfell, absolutely hated the fact that he was unable to transform like his cousins. So far, Robb, Arya and Bran had successfully transformed into their impressive direwolf forms. Direwolves, an ancient breed of wolf as large as a horse yet far more muscular. It was believed that the First Men had the ability to change their skin- not in the traditional sense where one's mind would transfer and take command of an animal- but rather into massive beasts that many in Westeros now considered either extinct or nothing more than legend. The Starks had always possessed the ability to change into the animal of their house sigil, and many in the South feared the Stark's prowess in battle thanks to it.

Jon was forced to watch from a distance as his cousins practiced getting used to their new forms within a sacred grove in the Wolfswood. Ancient magic protected the grove, preventing those not of Stark blood from entering, and for centuries the grove was where young Starks learned to harness the magic that flowed through them.

Jon watched as Arya, in her smaller, dark grey-furred and golden-eyed wolf form pounced on the larger wolf that Jon recognized as Robb. Jon watched enviously as the two wolves wrestled amidst the leaves and dirt of the grove, both snarling ferociously and snapping their jaws, though Jon knew it was only in jest. Bran watched them as well in his creamy-yellow wolf form, staring at his siblings in boredom.

Jon noticed that Sansa and Rickon were not in the grove as well. Rickon was too young to undergo the First Change, and Sansa often commented on how 'unlady-like' it was to turn into a giant wolf. Jon had often seen Sansa trying to convince Arya to stop transforming and act like a proper lady, but Arya would have none of it. She was every bit a she-wolf as a human.

Jon was upset however, because for years he had hoped he too could turn into a direwolf. He often wondered what he would look like as a wolf, as the colour of the fur and eyes were supposedly representations of the person's personality and innermost being. Robb often joked that if Jon were a wolf he would his fur would be dark as night, either for the dark curls that framed his face or because of his tendency to brood.

Unfortunately, Jon had never been able to transform, and Lady Catelyn would occasionally remark that it was because he was baseborn and had thus tainted the magic. It was not Jon's fault that he was the bastard son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne, yet he could not help but allow Lady Stark's words to pierce the carefully constructed walls he had built throughout his lifetime. He had indeed tainted the magic that ran through his veins, and because of it Jon feared he would never be legitimized as a Stark.

While Jon so desperately wanted to be like his cousins, he feared what would happen if he were to transform for the first time. You see, when a Stark successfully transforms for the first time, the wolf takes complete control for a short while, making them incredibly dangerous both to those around them and themselves. It was why Jon was not practicing at that moment, because his Uncle Ned, by far the most experienced wolf in the pack and the Alpha was not there to supervise.

Jon's only source of comfort came from that of his uncle ser Arthur Dayne, the legendary Sword in the Morning. He had promised Jon that he would travel to Winterfell in the coming months to train Jon as a worthy heir to the legendary sword Dawn, made out of the metal of a fallen star and said to be as sharp and resilient as Valyrian steel.

While many in Westeros, including Lady Stark, scoffed at the notion of Jon possibly becoming the new Sword in the Morning due to his social status as a bastard, House Dayne, and all of Dorne for that matter, didn't treat bastards as less than dirt but rather as equals. Jon spent most of his waking hours dreaming of wielding such a sword, and only hoped that his uncle would find him worthy.

Jon was broken from his thoughts when Arya ran up to him, now as a human and sat down next to him, panting heavily and covered in mud from head to toe.

"I saw you brooding again and thought I might stop you before you fall into depression," said Arya, looking at Jon with amusement.

"I wasn't brooding," said Jon grumpily, though the corners of his mouth were twitching slightly.

"Of course you were. It's your defining trait," retorted Arya as she punched him lightly on the arm.

Jon laughed and pushed Arya away, and Arya laughed as well. "What were you thinking about?" she asked.

Jon shrugged. "My uncle," he said simply.

Instantly Arya's eyes brightened. "Ser Arthur Dayne? Is he coming with King Robert?" she asked excitedly.

"I am not sure," said Jon. "Possibly. he is Kingsguard."

Uncle Ned had received a letter earlier in the month, announcing the King and his family's intentions to travel North to Winterfell.

"Will he be training you to wield a sword?" asked Arya.

"I think so. He did promise in his last letter to me," said Jon.

"You'll become the greatest swordsman in all of Westeros!" proclaimed Arya, making Jon chuckle lightly.

"I am not sure about that, but I might become close to my uncle," he said.

"I wonder if he will allow Robb to train with you," mused Arya.

"Maybe."

The two fell into silence after that, watching as Robb chased Bran around the grove. Jon felt another wave of melancholy pass over him then, once again reminded of the fact that he would never change like the rest of his family.

oOoOoOo

Nearly a month later and Jon was once again watching his cousins play in the grove in their wolf forms, though this time they were accompanied by Uncle Ned and Sansa. Uncle Ned was sitting on the roots of an old oak tree, polishing the blade of his greatsword Ice, while Sansa was embroidering a handkerchief with a stag, no doubt to present it to Prince Joffrey when the royal family arrived next week. Jon was sitting next to his uncle, performing the exercises that Uncle Ned had shown him that would call upon the beast.

Supposedly, Jon would feel another presence in the furthest depths of his mind, and was supposed to encourage that presence to the forefront of his mind until it consumed it entirely and he would change into a direwolf. Arya had described it to Jon as being as easy as changing clothes, yet Jon was unable to make the connection.

It frustrated Jon to no end, but he possessed the Stark stubbornness and so he persisted. Arya and Robb were continuously supportive of Jon, while Bran and Uncle Ned would often look at him with pity. Rickon, being only a few years old, often wondered aloud why Jon was so angry all the time. Sansa showed Jon little interest, often being too busy with her lady duties to pay him any attention. Lady Stark, on the other hand, would snort derisively whenever she saw Jon attempting to change. And it was on this day, a week before the royal family arrived in Winterfell, that Jon snapped.

Jon was meditating quietly on the far side of the grove, his eyes closed and all senses dead to the world as he concentrated, when he heard the footsteps approach. He opened one eye to see Lady Stark storming towards him with a look in her eyes that would freeze all seven hells. Jon automatically stiffened and prepared himself to accept the blame for whatever he may or may not have done wrong.

"Can I be of service, Lady Stark?" said Jon politely when said woman stopped a few feet in front of where Jon was sitting, just outside of the grove's boundaries as she could not enter.

"You can be of service by leaving," hissed Lady Stark.

Jon froze. Leave?

"Pardon?" he asked.

"Leave the grove. Now," she ordered. Lady Stark had always hated Jon, as he was a reminder to her of the betrayal she felt when Brandon Stark, Jon's father, lay with his mother while he had been betrothed to Catelyn Tully.

"You are no true Stark, so you do not belong here," continued Lady Stark.

Jon looked over his shoulder and saw his uncle staring at the impending confrontation with a cold look in his eyes. Ned stood up, sheathed his sword and strode over to where Jon and Lady Stark were, drawing the attention of the others.

"Catelyn," said Ned cautiously.

"He must leave. He does not belong here," insisted Lady Stark.

"He may not have our name, but he is of my blood," said Ned.

"He is not a Stark!" screamed Lady Stark.

Jon couldn't handle it. It was as if he wasn't even there any more and it infuriated him. Jon was often the most reserved, the most in control of their emotions of all the Starks but today it felt as though he was a bomb ready to go off, and his aunt and uncle had just lit the fuze.

He felt it in his chest first. It was a warmth that enveloped his heart and quickly spread throughout the rest of his body, and the heat increased until it was a raging inferno that threatened to consume Jon. Uncle Ned saw it first and his eyes widened in horror.

"Cat, get back!" he yelled, pushing his wife out of the way hard, sending Catelyn to the ground while Ned drew his sword, pointing the Valyrian steel greatsword at Jon, whose size had increased dramatically.

Behind Ned, the true born Stark children looked on in surprise as Jon's body was encompassed in fur as white as fresh snow. Robb and Arya transformed into their direwolf forms and stood in front of Sansa, Bran and Rickon in a defensive manner, ready to protect their siblings from the volatile first transformation. Sansa shrieked in fright and pulled little Rickon closer to her, and Bran too transformed, though he stood closer to his sister and younger brother.

Jon's body continued to grow and his shape twisted and morphed into the form of a quadraped. His head expanded and lengthened as his curls shortened and turned white like the rest of the hair covering his body. The whites and irises of his dark grey eyes turned blood red, making the beast he was transforming into appear like one of the monsters in Sansa's tales she often loved to read.

His transformation complete, Jon had become a white direwolf with blood-red eyes that dwarfed even Robb. He lifted his massive furry head and howled, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of the humans in the grove and making the hackles of the other wolves raise. A few miles away, the denizens of Winterfell paused in their daily activities and shuddered at the haunting sound echoing from the Wolfswood.

"Jon!" called out Ned to his nephew. The white direwolf's attention was drawn to his uncle and he snarled ferociously at the man holding the sword. He took a cautious step forward, his instincts screaming at Jon, telling him that the man with the greatsword was a threat. A deep growl resonated in Jon's throat as he stalked forward, his eyes never leaving Ned and his sword.

"Jon. It is me, your uncle," pleaded Ned. "You must control yourself, rein in the beast before you are consumed by it!"

His words fell on deaf ears, however, and the white wolf continued to move forward, his massive fangs bared. Ned looked at his nephew in both fear and bewilderment, having never seen a direwolf so large in his life. Not even he was as big as Jon.

Jon let out another snarl and he charged at Ned, with every intention to rip the Warden of the North's throat out. Ned raised his sword, silently praying to his dead older brother for forgiveness for what he was about to do. But before Ned could bring the greatsword down on Jon, Jon was intercepted by two smaller direwolves with grey fur. Robb and Arya.

The two grey wolves tackled the white wolf to the ground, sending dirt tumbling into the air. The ground shook at the sheer force of three enormous wolves hitting the ground, and the air was soon filled with the sounds of snarls, growls and the gnashing of teeth. Ned looked behind him and saw Bran standing protectively in front of a shocked Sansa and a crying Rickon, his eyes never leaving the skirmish taking place in the sacred grove. Catelyn had retreated beyond the borders of the grove, her face contorted into a look of pure amazement at the spectacle.

His attention was pulled back to the battle when he heard the high-pitched whine from one of the wolves. He looked back just in time to see the white wolf snap his jaws over the back of the neck of Robb and throw him away from him, then pin Arya down on the ground. Robb hit a tree with a sickening crunch and sank to the floor. Arya growled angrily and smacked one of her massive paws into Jon's muzzle, dazing the larger wolf. Arya was able to then kick Jon off herself and she ran behind him and sank her teeth into Jon's flank. Jon howled in both agony and fury and lashed out with his back foot, kicking Arya in the chest and sending her sprawling on the ground, her fur matted with mud and tangled with twigs and leaves.

Ned knew he had to do something before either Jon or one of his children were killed, so he charged forward and leapt into the air. In midair he called forth the beast within, transforming into his dark brown-furred wolf with piercing grey eyes. He landed on all fours with a loud thud, drawing Jon's attention away from Arya. Ned could instantly feel the mental connection he had to the rest of the pack, including Jon's. He was surprised to note that Jon's presence was unlike anything he had felt before, not since Brandon and Rickard were alive.

 _Jon!_ Ned called out through the connection, hoping to reach out to his nephew. He saw the white wolf pause slightly, he felt waves of confusion emanating from him. However, anger quickly overcame that and Jon growled again, hoping to challenge the Alpha of the Stark pack.

 _Do not do this,_ warned Ned, forcing the voice of the Alpha onto Jon. Jon shook his head and charged at Ned. Ned charged forward as well and the two largest wolves in the grove collided together with a loud crack that echoed through the Wolfswood.

If one were to ask any of the witnesses of the events as to what happened, they would say that it was the most ferocious battle ever seen between two direwolves, a battle worthy of song and recorded in the annals of Westerosi history, It was a short battle, with Ned coming out as the victor, but only just.

Ned gave it everything he got into putting Jon down without killing him, and by the time the battle was finished both combatants were exhausted. Ned had managed to pin Jon down underneath him and clapped his jaws down on Jon's throat, who had been forced to expose it. Ned had bitten down lightly, accepting Jon's submission, and the two wolves transformed back into men.

Ned sank to his knees and wiped sweat from his brow, panting heavily. Jon looked around in confusion, he too looking exhausted.

"What happened?" Jon asked wearily, trying to stave off the exhaustion he was feeling. He saw Robb stand up from where Jon had thrown him, limping heavily on his left leg. Arya's face was covered in bruises as she turned back into a girl. Jon looked at his uncle then and saw his clothes tattered and covered in blood.

"Did I do that?" asked Jon before darkness claimed him.

oOoOoOo

Soft voices broke through the foggy darkness that had enveloped Jon. His mind registered the fact that he was laying in a bed, the furs covering his body up to his chest. He didn't remember how he got there in the first place, his last memory was of him meditating in the grove.

"How could he be so big? He was even larger than you and Robb!"

Lady Stark? Larger than Robb?

"I have a theory, but I do not think you will like it," said another voice that sounded like Uncle Ned.

"What is it?"

There was a pause before Uncle Ned answered. "That he is the son of Brandon Stark, the true heir to Winterfell."

Somebody else gasped. "How so?"

"Well, Jon is the only son of my older brother Brandon, who should have become the Alpha of the Starks. Brandon's wolf form was always larger than mine, though Jon is larger than even his father ever was."

Wolf form? Jon had changed? Wait, he _had_ changed. He did it! And he was larger than his uncle? Jon mentally scoffed at that. he had never seen an animal as large as Uncle Ned's direwolf form.

"Are you saying that..."

"No Cat. Jon will not be the heir to Winterfell, though it is his rightful place."

"He is a bastard!"

"He is also my _nephew._ "

Jon thought he had never heard Uncle Ned speak to his wife with so much venom in his voice before.

"Besides," continued Uncle Ned. "I do not think that Jon will even want to become the Warden of the North. I fear his destiny lays elsewhere."

"The Wall?" asked Lady Stark.

"Mayhaps. But Jon will figure it out on his own."

Jon decided to open his eyes then, having heard enough. He was in his personal bedchambers, a warm light bathed the whole room which emanated from the fireplace. He saw Uncle ned and Lady Stark standing at the foot of his bed where they were talking. Next to him sat Robb, Arya and Bran, while Rickon and surprisingly Sansa were on his other side.

Arya was the first to notice Jon's return to consciousness and she squealed in joy before pulling Jon towards her and wrapping him in a tight hug. Jon squeaked in surprise and winced slightly when Arya squeezed too tight on his tender ribs. Arya quickly pulled away and apologized, which Jon brushed off.

He noticed Uncle Ned next, who looked haggard and weary. He gave Jon a half-smile and sat down at the foot of his bed. "Are you alright Jon?" he asked.

"I think so," said Jon. "A little tired and sore, and my memory is a little hazy."

"That usually happens after one transforms for the first time," said Uncle Ned thoughtfully.

"So I did transform?" said Jon hesitantly, though he couldn't stop the excitement from bleeding into his voice.

"Indeed you did," said Uncle Ned.

"And you were _enormous!"_ cried out Arya happily. "You were this giant wolf with fur as white as snow and eyes like the Targaryen rubies!"

Jon noticed that everyone else didn't look as excited as Arya, which quickly dampened the mood. "What happened?" he asked cautiously. Nobody answered him, giving each other worried looks, yet their eyes never fell on Jon. "What happened?" he repeated.

"You... sort of lost control," said Robb finally.

"In what way?" ventured Jon.

"You tried to kill us," said Arya as if it were just another thing that happened to her every day.

"I _what?!"_ shouted Jon, startling everyone.

"It is no issue! it happens all the time!" said Robb in an effort to calm Jon, who had begun hyperventilating.

"I almost killed you, and you're the ones trying to comfort me?" said Jon in disbelief.

"It wasn't so much that you tried to kill us. All shape shifters go through that their first transformation. It was simply that you were a lot larger than we thought, and we underestimated your strength," said Sansa, once again surprising Jon. Yet her words calmed him somehow, but he couldn't shake that feeling of guilt. He suddenly remembered everything. The fury that took control of him as he transformed, the bloodlust that took control of his mind and the anger at being challenged by an Alpha, when the wolf's mind screamed at Jon that he was the rightful ruler of the pack. He had almost killed his family because he couldn't control himself.

Uncle Ned seemed to sense Jon's inner turmoil, and ordered his wife and children out of the room. Everyone listened without protest and one by one, they filed out until Sansa, being the last one out, closed the door.

"I know it is a lot to take in..." began Uncle Ned.

"I cannot stay here," interrupted Jon.

"Excuse me?" said Ned, as though he didn't hear what Jon said.

"I cannot stay here. I am too dangerous," said Jon. He looked at his uncle, the man who had raised him as his own son. "Send me away Uncle, _please._ "

"Jon, what happened was not your fault," soothed Uncle Ned.

"Uncle. I cannot stay here while I am not in control of myself. Your lady wife would have my head on a spike if I hurt one of your children. Send me away to Essos, far away where I can learn in peace. I cannot stay here and remain as the Bastard of Winterfell. I need to carve a name for myself. I can do so much better out in the world, somewhere I may be someone other than a bastard."

"Perhaps," agreed Uncle Ned thoughtfully. "Though you might wish to accompany your Uncle Arthur to King's Landing, squire for him."

Jon shook his head. "I cannot be in the presence of others, especially my family and the king while I am not in control of myself," he said gravely.

Ned sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Tell you what. If your uncle does decide to take you on as his squire, you will go to King's Landing," he said, then raised a hand to stop Jon from speaking over him. "Aunt Catelyn believes that King Robert is traveling to Winterfell to name me his new Hand, as Lord Arryn passed away recently. You will not be alone, for I will be with you. I can teach you to control yourself in our spare time, how does that sound?"

Jon said nothing for a moment, feeling lost in thought. Uncle Ned's plan was sound, and it would provide him time to practice with Ned while also spending time getting to know his uncle Arthur. "Very well," said Jon. "I will consider your advice Uncle."

Uncle Ned beamed at Jon and patted him on the shoulder. He left Jon alone by himself then, though Jon hardly noticed.

oOoOoOo

Jon couldn't shake the nerves he was feeling as the royal party pulled into Winterfell's main courtyard. He stood behind the rest of the Starks and beside Theon Greyjoy and he scratched his now clean-shaven face in annoyance. Lady Stark had ordered he, Robb and Theon to clean themselves up and look presentable to the King and Queen. Jon didn't see any reason as to why he had to clean up, it wasn't like he was going to be receiving any attention from the royal family. Besides, Jon liked his beard, it kept the cold northern air from getting to his face properly.

The Queen Cercei was the first to be seen, an undeniably beautiful woman with long, golden hair fashioned in the Southron style. Jon could almost hear the drool coming out of Theon's mouth and he had to repress a smirk. The queen's handsome twin Jaime, also known as the Kingslayer, stood to her left and behind her as her personal guard, his face exuding arrogance and carelessness, though his eyes never stayed still for long as he watched for any potential dangers.

The queen's two youngest children, Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen joined their mother next, both clad in thick fur pelts to ward off the biting winds of the North. Both had the same golden hair as their mother and uncle, and they had a look of innocence to them. The princess couldn't be much older than Sansa or even Arya, and fat little Tommen was around the same age as Bran.

The crown Prince Joffrey descended from his white steed, and Jon could hear Sansa's harsh intake of breath at the sight thanks to his newly acquired enhanced hearing. He rolled his eyes at both Sansa and the prince, Sansa because she was gushing like one of Winterfell's maids when they gossiped about Robb or even himself, and Joffrey because he had that same arrogant air about him as his uncle, though their was a glint in his eyes that screamed 'dangerous.'

Jon's eyes scanned for any sign of Ser Arthur, his attention focussed on the other white-cloaked Kingsguards, but he couldn't see anything. Jon was also disappointed at the sight of King Robert, who looked nothing like what Uncle Ned had described in his tales of the Trident and Robert's Rebellion. The King greeted Ned like an old friend, which they were, Jon had to remind himself, and watched as he gave his hellos to Lady Stark and their children.

Jon was surprised however, when the King looked Jon straight in the eye and marched over to him. Jon froze feeling unsure as to what to do, and looked to Uncle Ned for help. King Robert stopped directly in front of Jon and Jon bowed low, muttering "Your Grace."

King Robert beckoned Jon to rise and he obeyed, freezing again as the King studied him.

"You are Brandon's bastard, are you not?" the King asked gruffly.

"I am, Your Grace," said Jon, ignoring the sting he felt at Robert's blunt words.

The King let out a booming laugh that echoed through the courtyard and clapped Jon on the shoulder. "He looks more like you Ned! One would think he was actually _your_ bastard!" laughed King Robert.

Uncle Ned gave Robert a tight smile but said nothing, and Jon couldn't help but feel relieved when Robert's attention was diverted from him. He shrank, however, when he saw Queen Cercei's eyes bore into his like daggers and Jon looked away quickly, his eyes following the King and Uncle Ned as Uncle Ned led Robert down to the crypts.

So focussed Jon was on the royal procession, that he didn't see the white armoured knight approach until he stood directly in front of Jon. Jon stood slightly shorter than the knight, and he didn't recognize the Kingsguard until he removed his helm.

"Ser Arthur!" exclaimed Jon, drawing the attention of Robb, Theon, Sansa and Arya, and all four of them gawked openly at the sight of the most famous warrior in the Seven Kingdoms standing before them.

To his credit, Ser Arthur laughed lightly and patted the pommel of his beloved sword Dawn, his body shaking in mirth. "For a second I believed I had gone back in time to see a younger Lord Eddard standing before me," laughed the Kingsguard. "How is my favourite bastard nephew?"

"I think I am your only bastard nephew," pointed out Jon. Unlike King Robert, Ser Arthur looked every bit like what Uncle Ned described. Tall, broad shouldered with dark, shoulder-length hair with a few wisps of grey on the sides and indigo eyes. A sword was sheathed on either side of Ser Arthur's waist, one the long greatsword Dawn, and the other a longsword. He had an air of power and intimidation about him that was coupled with politeness and chivalry, other traits that were described of the knight.

"That you are," said Arthur quietly. Jon noticed the Kingsguard looking behind Jon then and he followed his gaze, where he saw Ser Barristan Selmy gesturing for Ser Arthur to follow. "Duty calls nephew. Perhaps tonight you can sit with me at the feast and regal tales of your exploits in Winterfell?"

Jon nodded his head enthusiastically and his uncle patted him on the shoulder before following Ser Barristan. Jon turned back to his cousins and Theon with a wide grin on his face.

"I cannot believe it," said Robb in awe. "It's really him."

"He looks just like the songs describe him," swooned Sansa.

"I want to see his sword," said Arya. "I heard the blade is as pale as milk glass."

"Do you think Ser Arthur would be willing to train us?" asked Robb to Jon.

"Perhaps," said Jon. "My uncle did promise to teach me while he was visiting here. Maybe he'll want to teach us as well."

Jon couldn't help but smile at the beaming faces of his cousins when he said that.

oOoOoOo

Of course, Jon's happy mood was soured as he sat near the end of the tables furthest from the high table, where Lady Stark had relegated him, fearing that seating a bastard would be considered a slight in the presence of the King and Queen. The good news was that he could sip as much wine as he wanted to as he was not under supervision, though Jon thought it ridiculous in the first place seeing as he was a man grown.

Jon looked up at the high table and his trademark brooding face came back. Robb and Theon were asking Ser Barristan questions, possibly of King's Landing and the old knight's adventures. Robb was completely oblivious of the attention he was receiving from Princess Myrcella, who looked completely enamored with his cousin, though occasionally she would glance in Jon's direction. Sansa was constantly giving Prince Joffrey shy looks and Jon once again rolled his eyes at that, while Arya looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Jon suspected that she wanted to be out in the woods in her wolf form, but Lady Stark had prohibited them from transforming for the day, though she had said nothing about not transforming during the rest of the royal family's stay.

Jon was about to down his third cup of wine when he heard movement approaching behind him. He turned and saw the curious and wide-eyed stares of Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella, accompanied by Ser Arthur. Jon stood up and bowed to the royal children before sitting back down and returning to his drink, though the children did not leave.

"Why are you sitting here?" asked Tommen.

"Pardon, Your Grace?" said Jon.

"Why are you sitting here, when the rest of your family is up there?" clarified Myrcella.

"I have my uncle right here," said Jon, pointing to Ser Arthur.

Myrcella smiled bashfully at Jon's jest, while Tommen looked confused. Now that they were closer to Jon, he could actually inspect them in more detail. Tommen was rather short for his age, and he had not yet shed the baby fat, making him look like a plump pumpkin clad in Lannister red and gold. Myrcella, on the other hand, was a spitting image of her mother, though her green eyes were alight with an innocence and kindness not seen in her mother, and Jon thought it made her look more attractive than Queen Cercei. However, Jon thought that the two Baratheon children looked a little _too_ much like their mother and uncle Jaime.

Sighing, Jon continued. "Because I am a bastard, and bastards have no place sitting at or near the high tale during feasts."

"That doesn't seem fair," said Myrcella. "They are still your family."

"I am not the one who makes the rules, my lady," said Jon quietly, his voice barely heard over the loud noises of the feast.

"You don't seem like a bastard," said Tommen.

"And what are bastards supposed to be like?" asked Jon, raising an eyebrow.

"They are supposed to smell of salt and be dirty, wild creatures," Tommen answered flatly.

"Tommen!" scolded Myrcella.

"It is alright," assured Jon. "Perhaps bastards in the North are different from the South?"

"Or it is a lie to get trueborn people and the smallfolk to treat bastards poorly," suggested Ser Arthur, speaking for the first time.

"When my brother is king, I will ask him to command the realm to treat bastards more fairly," declared Myrcella.

"I would appreciate that very much my lady. But I fear that it would take many years for it to sink in. Possibly beyond our lifetime," said Jon solemnly. "Would you like to join me?" he asked suddenly, thinking it rude for him to be seated while the Prince and Princess stood.

"I wish we could, but mother has forbidden us from sitting amongst the common folk and bastards," said Myrcella. "Besides, I believe you would like to spend some time getting to know your uncle," she added. "Though we would not mind if you gave us a tour of your home sometime tomorrow. Maybe even show us the direwolves we are told you can turn into."

Whatever it was Jon was expecting to come out of the Princess's mouth, it certainly wasn't that, yet he agreed all the same. And with that, Myrcella gave Jon a bright smile and took her leave, taking Tommen's chubby hand and leading him back up to the high table, leaving Jon alone with Ser Arthur.

Ser Arthur sat beside Jon and helped himself to a turkey leg, and the two ate in comfortable silence. It was strange for Jon, to be the nephew of The Sword in the Morning, and even stranger to be seated next to him having dinner.

"Your uncle came to me this afternoon with a proposition," Ser Arthur said finally.

Jon said nothing and waited for Ser Arthur to elaborate, which he did.

"He asked that you squire for me."

"Did he give you his reasons why?" asked Jon.

"He did," said Ser Arthur, nodding his head. "He said you wanted to sail East to Essos, because you fear your powers."

"I do," admitted Jon, casting his eyes down at his now-empty cup.

"Do not worry. Your uncle was just named Hand of the King and will be joining us when we return to King's Landing. I believe he and the King have brokered an agreement to a betrothal between your cousin Sansa and Prince Joffrey. I believe your uncle wishes for you to be your cousin's sworn shield," said Arthur, looking at Jon expectantly.

Jon's head shot up at the news of Sansa's betrothal, though he wasn't surprised that much. It was all Sansa ever dreamed about, to become a queen and live in King's Landing, married to a handsome prince with golden hair and she would bear a son for him. He was even more surprised at the suggestion of Jon becoming Sansa's sworn shield.

"I had not been told of Sansa's betrothal, or my becoming her sworn shield," said Jon.

"It was an idea I came up with," said Ser Arthur. He leaned forward then and beckoned Jon to do the same. "The truth is, I fear for the realm when Joffrey becomes king. He possesses a cruelty and madness I have not seen since the Mad King Aerys."

Jon was surprised at that. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

"Because I fear for the safety of your cousin. If Joffrey really is everything I fear he might become, Sansa will need someone to take care of her," said Ser Arthur. He straightened up then and looked Jon up and down appraisingly. "I heard from Ser Rodrik Cassel that you are the better swordsman between you and your cousin Robb," he said a little louder.

"I am," confirmed Jon. "But Robb is better with the lance than I."

"That can be taught easily," said Ser Arthur offhandedly, "You are a little old to be starting off as a squire, but if what I have heard from you is true, it will not be long until you become a full-fledged knight. Perhaps within the year. But if you wish to squire for me, I ask only for the best of you."

"Of course Ser," said Jon quickly.

Ser Arthur laughed heartily. "Please Jon, in times of celebration or when we are alone you will refer to me as 'Arthur' or 'Uncle.'"

"Sorry Uncle," said Jon.

Arthur looked at Jon again, and Jon felt the odd sense that he was being judged.

"I will admit Jon, when you were born I feared you would be just like your father when I hoped you would be more like your mother," said Arthur. "It's no secret amongst the Seven Kingdoms that I bore a grudge against your father for what he did to my sister, but I am glad to see that you are more like your uncle Eddard. He has taught you well to become a man of honesty and chivalry. Those are the most important qualities a knight must have, for without them you will never be a true knight."

Jon blushed at the praise he was receiving from the most famous knight in Westeros. "What was my mother and father like?" he asked suddenly.

Instantly Arthur's face darkened and he got a faraway look in his eyes. "Perhaps that is a tale for another time," he said quietly. "It is getting late, and you will need your rest to clear your head. After all, training starts tomorrow and you did promise to be the Prince and Princess's guide." And with that Arthur stood up and walked back up to the high table, leaving Jon alone in his thoughts.

oOoOoOo

"Oi, wake up!"

Jon's face was met with a pillow, pulling him from unconsciousness. He sat up groggily on his bed, blinking his eyes into focus. There stood Arya, who was frowning at him with her arms crossed.

"What happened?" he asked, leaning back down to rest his head on his pillow and close his eyes.

"What happened is that you promised the Princess and her little brother a tour of the castle," growled Arya.

Jon's eyes snapped open when Arya's words struck him.

"Oh fuck," he groaned. "Fine, I will do it." When he didn't hear Arya leave, he added, "that means you have to get out."

Arya merely snorted, but listened to him nonetheless. When Jon heard his door close, he jumped out of bed, putting on his breeches and leather tunic over his smallclothes. After that he quickly darted out of his room, down the winding stairs and into the hall, where he saw his cousins having breakfast with the royal children. The princess was the first to spot Jon and she gave him a bright smile before waving him over.

She patted her hand down on the empty seat next to her, and Jon hesitantly complied, casting Robb a confused look. Robb only shrugged in response and continued on with his eating, and Jon grimaced at him before helping himself. He couldn't help but feel extremely self-conscious as he sat next to Princess Myrcella, though she seemed to be unbothered by his tenseness. It was more likely that she was choosing to ignore it, but Jon was grateful for it anyway.

"When are we going on our tour, my lord?" asked little Tommen from Myrcella's other side.

"I am not a lord, Your Grace," said Jon.

"Regardless, my little brother is quite keen on seeing Winterfell," said Myrcella placatingly.

"Very well," said Jon, standing up. "Shall we?"

Jon wasn't particularly surprised when Ser Jaime accompanied them, seeing as they were the king's children, so he made no qualms about it, though the piercing gaze of the Kingslayer made Jon feel uncomfortable. He showed Myrcella and Tommen around as much of the castle as he could fit into one morning. He showed them the great walls that surrounded Winterfell, the stables, the kennels, dungeons, barracks, he even took them to the entrance of the crypts, where the ancient and not-so-ancient kings and lords of Winterfell rested for all eternity. When Tommen asked if Jon's father was buried inside, he only nodded his head in response.

Much to his surprise and relief, Jon actually enjoyed the company of the youngest Baratheon children. Tommen was a sweet boy and very inquisitive, and seemed to be quite the animal lover, always asking questions about the animals they kept in the kennels and stables, and would often be almost left behind because he would stop to pet a stray dog or cat.

Myrcella was a lot like Tommen, though her interests leaned more towards the historical aspect of Winterfell. She asked questions about the different towers, the former Wardens of the North, even where Jon slept. She was polite and proper, every bit a lady like Sansa yet Jon could see the curiosity that glimmered in her emerald eyes.

The tour would have been even more pleasant however, were it not for the Kingslayer's arrogant and cutting remarks about Jon's home. In fact, Ser Jaime was quite vocal about his surprise over Lord Stark fostering his brother's bastard, which had begun to grate on Jon's nerves after the man had mentioned it for the umpteenth time.

When Jon decided to take the group over to the barracks and training yard, they saw Robb sparring with Theon, with Prince Joffrey and several other Southern men watching. Jon also spotted Ser Arthur guarding the Crown Prince, and his uncle gave Jon a slight nod of the head to show his recognition.

"This is tiresome to watch," groaned Joffrey. "It is like watching green boys fight." Several of Joffrey's snickered at that.

"Seven hells," muttered Myrcella, and Jon raised an eyebrow at that.

Jon could see Robb getting frustrated at Joffrey's remarks, his face reddening with anger. Theon too was beginning to look agitated.

"Perhaps you would like to show us a demonstration of how you do it in the South, Your Grace?" asked Ser Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell's Master-at-Arms.

"With blunted steel?" scoffed Joffrey. "Please, I only train with live steel."

"Then show us," encouraged Robb. "You and me. Live steel. Right now."

"Not at all, Lord Robb," reprimanded Ser Rodrik.

'Ser, I am a man grown. Let me fight," urged Robb. There were several nods of assent from the men gathered, Ser Arthur included.

Ser Rodrik probably would not have relented, were it not for Ser Arthur's own interest on the matter. "Very well," he said, "Theon, fetch the live steel."

Theon nodded his head excitedly and rushed off to fetch the swords. Meanwhile Joffrey cantered off into the middle of the training yard with all the arrogance of the world, though Jon could smell the nervousness wafting off him, and he knew that Robb could smell it as well. It was getting the primal side of Jon excited, like when a predator knew its prey knew it was about to die.

"I would like a practice round," declared Joffrey, his voice shaking slightly. "With the bastard," he added, pointing at Jon.

Jon had never met a person who could put so much malice into the word used to describe people like Jon, not even from Lady Stark.

"Your Grace, you know you cannot..." began Ser Arthur.

"I understand the law," snapped Joffrey, "but regardless, I would like to put the bastard in his place." He snatched one of the blunted steel swords off Ser Rodrik and refused the padding offered, stating that he would not need it. Joffrey twirled and swung the sword around several times and earned the cheers of a few of his lackeys. There was no gracefulness in the swings, noted Jon. It was like Joffrey was not comfortable with holding a weapon.

Jon stepped into the yard and Ser Rodrik handed Jon the other sword. He looked over at Robb, who had a vicious smile plastered on his face. Ser Arthur nodded his head at Jon, mouthing the words _kick his ass,_ and Jon smiled.

Ser Rodrik called the start of the match, and immediately Joffrey lunged at Jon, swinging the sword over his head into a downwards arc, intending to strike Jon over the head with the weapon. Jon was ready, however, and easily sidestepped the swing, but didn't attack yet. He wanted to see the prince's strengths and weaknesses, though already he could tell that there were a lot of weaknesses.

Joffrey's footing was spaced to closely, which only served to throw him off balance with every swing. He was unconfident holding the sword, and his arms were thin, not suited for swinging, let alone actually holding a sword properly.

Jon easily parried Joffrey's next strikes, and he could feel the lack of strength behind the attacks. He did not falter once nor press his obvious advantage. Behind him, Jon could hear Myrcella and Tommen cheering their older brother on, though even he could tell it was half-hearted. Robb and Theon were roaring with laughter at Joffrey's pathetic attempts to prove himself superior to a bastard.

"Come on Jon, stop playing with your food!" shouted Robb, and Jon allowed himself, which only served to anger the prince.

"Come now, Your Grace, surely the knights of King's Landing have taught you how to fight?" taunted Jon.

Enraged, Joffrey charged at Jon, intending to skewer the dark-haired man with his sword. But Jon spun around and smacked the flat of his sword against Joffrey's knees, forcing them to buckle and Joffrey collapsed to the dirt. He quickly recovered though and lunged again, but Jon was done being on the defensive. He swung his sword from the side, and Joffrey was only just able to parry the blow.

Jon did not relent however, and soon less and less of his strikes were being blocked and more were hitting Joffrey. Whenever Joffrey would change his stance and position his sword, a strike would come in from the other side. No more were Joffrey's lackeys laughing at Jon, but they had fallen silent and were glaring at him with contempt. Ser Arthur wasn't even hiding his pride and amusement, and even Myrcella and Tommen had changed sides and begun cheering for Jon.

Jon soon grew tired though, and quickly finished Joffrey off with anther strike to the knees before kicking the sword out of his hands. Satisfied with his work, Jon walked away from the yard, ignoring the murderous looks of the Lannister guards, amused grins of Sers Arthur and Jaime, the proud stares of Robb, Theon and Rodrik.

oOoOoOo

Later that night, Jon stood stoically before Uncle Ned, Lady Stark, the Kingsguard, The Baratheon children and the King and Queen. Cercei had spent a good twenty minutes spewing obscenities at Jon for hurting her 'precious boy,' demanding Jon's hand be cut off. Uncle Ned had tried to act as the mediator, but every attempt to speak had been shut down by the enraged queen. Myrcella and Tommen looked terrified of their mother's anger, while Arthur and Ser Barristan merely looked bored, though they would occasionally send Jon sympathetic glances.

"Be silent woman!" King Robert finally bellowed, and in shock, Cercei complied. The fat king leaned forward in his chair and stared at Jon, not speaking a word. Finally, he said, "Why did you duel with my son? Do you not know that hurting the Crown Prince, is punishable by having your sword arm removed?"

Jon swallowed thickly. "Aye, I do know, Your Grace," he said. "But in my defence the Prince himself challenged me, and I could not refuse an order from the Prince."

"Tell us your side of the story," encouraged Uncle Ned.

Jon took a deep breath. "I had been giving Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen a tour of Winterfell, accompanied by Ser Jaime," he began. "We had just come to the barracks, where Prince Joffrey had just challenged Lord Robb to a duel with live steel. Theon greyjoy had been sent to fetch some proper swords, but the Prince had decided to warm up with the intention of using me for practice."

"And?" pressed the king.

"I beat Joffrey," finished Jon.

"Lies! The bastard attacked me!" shrieked Joffrey, who was cowering behind his mother.

"There are several witnesses standing in this very room that can attest to my words Your Grace," continued Jon, ignoring the loud simpers coming from Joffrey.

"Arthur, you were there, were you not?" said Robert, turning his head to look at Jon's Dornish uncle.

"Yes Your Grace, what Jon says is true," said Ser Arthur.

"The bastard's own uncle, coming to his defence," sneered Cercei.

"Fine. Ser Barristan, can you concur?" asked Robert.

"No Your Grace, I was with you," said the old knight.

"Father, Myrcella and I were there," squeaked Tommen timidly. He stopped talking, however, when his older's brother's vicious stare fell on him.

"Jon speaks the truth," said Myrcella, and Jon was barely able to hold in a sigh of relief.

"Well then, I see no problem here," boomed Robert with a clap of his hands.

"But husband..." hissed Cercei.

"Joffrey challenged the bastard to a duel, and is now suffering the consequences of his actions. Besides, it was quite stupid of him, trying to best the nephew of two of the greatest swordsmen Westeros has ever seen!" interrupted Robert, laughing loudly. He stopped however, and looked between Jon and Ser Arthur. "Since we are all gathered here anyway, I thought it best to get this out of the way.

"I have received numerous ravens from the Wall, each asking that I go there and inspect the place. However, time is of the essence and we will depart within the month back to King's Landing. I am sending you, Ser Arthur, and your squire to the Wall within the week and report back your findings."

The Wall? Jon had never been to the Wall, but he had heard all of Old Nan's tales of White Walkers and ice spiders that lurked beyond the Wall. It was said that the Wall was built by giants, mammoths and the First Men and held together by ancient spells to protect the realms of Men from the evil beyond. Of course, those stories were just that, stories.

Then again Jon _could_ turn into a giant wolf, so anything was possible.

"Or course, Your Grace," said Ser Arthur, placing his fist over his heart and bowing slightly. "Come Jon," he said, before exiting the solar, Jon following hot on his heels.

They went outside to the courtyard, where Ser Arthur stopped abruptly.

"You fight well," he commented. "Much better than I did when I was a boy."

Jon flushed at the praise and ducked his head in embarrassment. "It was not much of a test of skill when facing someone as incompetent as the Prince," he said.

"No it is not," agreed Arthur. He then drew his longsword and tossed it in Jon's direction, who caught it easily. "Your fighting style is more suited to the use of a longsword, but you should not depend on one kind of weapon, because you might be forced to use one you might not be accustomed to on the battlefield."

Jon's eyes widened when he realised that he was getting a lesson from his uncle himself. He looked down at the steel blade he was holding. It was a little longer than he was used to, but the blade was smooth and sharpened, polished to perfection. He gave it a swing and it was like an extension of his arm.

Arthur soon drew his other sword and Jon was stunned into disbelief at the blade. Dawn looked every bit the legend spoken of in tales and songs. It was shorter than Ice and the blade was not as wide, and the handle was shorter as well, allowing for one handed use. The blade was as pale as milk glass and seemed to almost glow in the dark skies over Winterfell.

Suddenly Arthur lunged forward and Jon raised his sword up to deflect the blow, and soon the clash of steel could be heard echoing around the castle's courtyard.

Arthur certainly lived up to his name, and despite his skill Jon had been forced on the ground more times than Robb ever did to him his whole life in just one night. Arthur was impossibly fast and graceful with Dawn, each strike hard and true like a viper. By the end of it Jon was aching and covered from head to toe with bruises and cuts, but he loved every bit of it.

"You are very skilled nephew," complimented Arthur, "but you still have a long way to go before you are up to Kingsguard standards."

"Thank you Uncle," said Jon, bowing respectfully to his new teacher.

"You are welcome. Now, off to bed with you, we have more training in the morning."

oOoOoOo

True to his word, Arthur woke Jon up the next morning to train, and the next morning, and the morning after that. They would train until the sun had reached its peak of its arc over the land, and Jon wasn't quite sure what colour his skin was supposed to be, what with the ugly purple and yellow bruises that covered every inch of him.

Maester Luwin certainly had his work cut out for him, creating strange smelling poultices that were slapped onto his skin after every training session. Occasionally, one of the handmaidens would help the old Maester, but Jon found it irritating because they would giggle and whisper excitedly over touching Jon's naked torso.

Robb excitedly joined in with the training every chance he got and soon he too was sporting his own set of cuts and bruises to match Jon. Both thought it worth it though, simply for the chance to train with the Sword in the Morning.

Arthur himself was calm, yet ruthless when training the two younger men. He taught them how to hold and swing a blade in ways they never even knew existed, and was patient if one of them could not get something right the first time. He was an excellent teacher and an even better fighter, easily able to hold both Jon and Robb off in two-on-one battles.

Every day too, small crowds gathered to watch Jon and Robb get pummeled by Arthur. Even the king and Uncle Ned would come down and witness it, occasionally offering their own words of advice to the boys. Myrcella and tommen would cheer for Jon despite never winning a duel, but nonetheless Jon was bolstered by their support. Bran and Rickon would chatter excitedly with the Baratheon youngest as well, and Jon was pleased by the camaraderie that had formed between them.

Surprisingly, Arthur had allowed Arya to join in on their training sessions once, much to Lady Stark's dismay and Arya's excitement. She was not built for wielding a longsword, but Arthur encouraged her to keep trying anyway and stated that she was a natural fighter, like the warrior queen Nymeria of old.

Jon found himself spending more and more time with the youngest Baratheon children whenever he was not training or engaged in lessons with Maester Luwin, particularly with Myrcella. He was never good with speaking to girls, particularly beautiful girls, but Myrcella seemed to enjoy his company anyway. They did not have much in common, though Jon learned that Myrcella enjoyed watching the knights back at King's Landing spar, and reckoned that Jon was a better fighter than most of them.

Jon had been skeptical until Myrcella had pointed out that not many had the opportunity to train under Ser Arthur, and even less were able to last against him as long as Jon had. She reminded Jon a lot of Sansa, though she was much more friendlier towards him and had a more realistic view on life. Myrcella knew that not everything was a song, and had even confided in Jon that she hated King's Landing and preferred the simple lifestyle of the North.

Speaking of Sansa, Jon had not seen much of her since the King's arrival to Winterfell, ye whenever he had she had given him cold looks and would saunter off in the opposite direction of Jon. When he asked Arya about Sansa's behaviour, Arya told him that Sansa was jealous of him because of all the attention he had received from everybody, and was annoyed that the princess seemed to prefer his company over hers.

It was odd, to be honest, for Jon to have received such praise amongst the visitors from the capital, but Jon never considered that Sansa would be so petty about it. Nevertheless Jon ignored Sansa, because it wan't anything new.

Two weeks to the day since Jon's first sparring session with Arthur, he was preparing to leave Winterfell with Arthur, Uncle Benjen and Tyrion Lannister for the Wall. He was currently in his bedchambers, resting on the stone floor next to the fireplace in his wolf form. he hadn't had much of an opportunity to practice his shape shifting because of his busy schedule, and since it was his last night in Winterfell possibly forever, he wanted to make the most of it.

He lifted his massive head up and looked at the door when he heard someone knocking. The door opened, and Myrcella's head popped into view. She let off a small shriek at the sight of the direwolf but Jon quickly transformed back into a human.

"It is alright! It's just me!" said Jon quickly before mMyrcella could disappear, and it seemed to calm the girl's nerves.

"Is... is that what you look like when you turn?" she asked timidly.

"Aye, it is Your Grace," said Jon with a nod of his head.

"Can I see it?" she asked.

Jon took a step back, and calling forth the beast, he let the feeling of warmth wash over him and soon a giant, white direwolf was standing where Jon had once been. He could smell the fear from Myrcella slowly be replaced with curiosity and she took a tentative step forward, her hand stretching outwards towards his muzzle.

Jon met Myrcella's hand halfway, and let out a low whine. Myrcella, looking braver, took another step forward and began running her small hands through his snow-coloured fur. Jon couldn't help but roll his tongue out of his mouth like a dog and lay down. Myrcella joined him on the floor and began rubbing his belly, Jon's tail wagging excitedly.

Myrcella let out a laugh at Jon's antics, and he transformed back into his human form, grinning widely. "How may I be of service, Your Grace?" he asked politely.

"I heard you were leaving today," said Myrcella.

"Aye, I have some business to take care of up there. It should be exciting really. I've never been that far North before."

"Will it be dangerous?"

Jon shrugged. "I think it depends on what the Night's Watch want to talk about really," he said.

"Will you be careful?" asked Myrcella, concern crossing her features.

"I'll try," said Jon quietly.

Myrcella nodded her head, then pulled out something from her sleeve. To Jon's surprise, it was a favour, embroidered with the Lannister colours and sigil. She handed Jon the favour, which Jon held tenderly in his hand.

"I don't understand," whispered Jon.

"I am expecting this back for when you return," answered Myrcella.

"Oh," was all Jon could say, his cheeks beginning to burn. Myrcella took a step forward and raised her head upwards, planting a soft kiss on his unshaven cheek. With that, she left Jon's chambers, leaving Jon thoroughly confused.

When he went outside to the stables, he handed Hodor his things which he would take to the Wall and eventually King's Landing, and the gentle giant strapped them on to Jon's horse's saddle while Jon went outside to see Ser Arthur. As a squire, Jon performed his duties; he collected Arthur's things, strapped them to the horse Arthur would be riding, helped the knight into his armour and handed him his swords. After that Jon collected his own horse and sword and saddled up next to Arthur, Uncle Benjen and the Imp.

Uncle Ned, followed by Robb, Bran and Rickon walked over to the quartet and looked up at Jon.

"Be careful," said Uncle Ned worriedly.

"I will uncle," promised Jon. "I will see you in King's Landing in a few months." He quickly hopped off and his uncle pulled him into a firm hug.

Jon let go and faced Robb. Snowflakes had caught in Robb's dark auburn hair, and it was such a lovely sight that Jon committed it to memory.

"The next time I'll see you, you'll be wearing white!" exclaimed Robb.

"And you will be Lord of Winterfell," remarked Jon, smirking a little.

"You might even be a better swordsman than me," said Robb.

"I already am," reminded Jon.

"Oh you know what I mean. Soon you'll be lugging that Dornish sword of your uncle's and they'll be calling you the new Sword in the Morning," laughed Robb, and Jon laughed as well.

They said nothing for a moment, before Robb pulled Jon into a tight hug. "Farewell, Jon Snow," he said thickly.

"Farewell Robb Stark," echoed Jon, then let go of the man who was practically his brother. He gave his farewells to Bran and Rickon, the latter crying for him not to leave them, but Jon had to.

And so, Jon saddled up on his horse, and with one final look at Winterfell, he followed his entourage out of the gates and towards his new life.

 _A/N- Love it? Hate it? Let me know!_


	2. Chapter 2- Beyond the Wall

_A/N- Thank you for the reviews guys! I just have to answer somebody's review._

 _I'm depicting Sansa still as a naive girl because she still believes that life is a song. She's been sheltered at Winterfell her whole life and hasn't been through the horrors of King's Landing yet and hasn't been forced to grow up. And Myrcella's more mature than Sansa because she lives in King's Landing. She knows life is not a song._

 _Also I never said anything about Sansa not changing into a direwolf. She can but she chooses not to because she thinks it's unladylike, even though it's a part of her. That will change though and I plan on having some epic Sansa wolf moments later on._

 _Also I want to mention that the descriptions of the characters will be a combination of the books and show._

 **Chapter 2- Beyond the Wall**

Jon thought he knew what cold felt like, having spent the entirety of his life in Winterfell. He had never been so wrong in his life. His company had just traveled through the Gift, and the cold was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It bit at every part of exposed skin of Jon's, like the ice spiders of Old Nan's stories.

When he asked Uncle Benjen how he dealt with it, the Ranger merely told him he used his direwolf form. So Jon often transformed into his direwolf form, mainly at nighttime to ward of the freezing winds. As a human, the cold was almost unbearable but as a wolf, he was in his element. Jon's soft yet thick, white fur completely protected him from the harsh environment and he barely felt a thing. He would invite the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, to sleep closer to him at night, and the dwarf was extremely grateful for it.

The Wall was _huge,_ was the first thought that came to Jon when he first saw it, and they were still two days away from Castle Black. It was a white line on the horizon, that stretched as far as the eye could see. When they were less than a day out, Jon realised that the Wall wasn't just white, it was various shades of blue that made up the enormous structure. It was cold and intimidating, a silent sentinel that guarded the realms of men from the dangers that lurked beyond.

When the party arrived at Castle Black, they were greeted at the front gates by several men clad in black. The man in the front of the party was a tall, broad-shouldered man. he was powerfully built and had an aura of power about him that commanded respect. Jon recognised him as Jeor Mormont, the former lord of Bear Island-turned Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

"Welcome, Ser Arthur Dayne, to Castle Black," greeted Mormont. "Castle Black is yours."

"Thank you Lord Commander," said Arthur. "I apologize for the King's absence, but he had urgent matters to attend to back in Winterfell."

"Bah! No doubt he was too busy whoring for a visit," spat the man closest to Mormont.

"Enough, Ser Alliser," barked Mormont. The man quieted, but the angry glare never left his face. "Now, we have much to discuss. So if you will follow me." And with that the Lord Commander turned around and walked back into the fortress, followed closely by his men.

Jon and Arthur shared a looked before they followed, taking note of their surroundings. Castle Black could barely be called a castle. It was rundown and old, the wood was rotting in some places and the dark paint was chipping. The courtyard was not much better, but it was fairly large. The only impressive thing about the place was the winch which was used to carry men up to the top of the Wall, and the Wall itself, which towered several hundred feet above the rundown fortress.

To say that Jon's impression on the Night's Watch was disappointing was an understatement. Uncle Ned had told Jon and his cousins that the Order was an honorable calling, and Jon believed them because he saw Uncle Benjen often enough. However, the truth was a bitter pill to swallow; most of the men were thin, with hunched backs and gloomy faces. Many of the men looked like they'd rather be elsewhere, and some Jon suspected were rapists and murderers, forced to choose between a life of servitude to the Watch or death.

"Stick close to me," whispered Arthur, who was eyeing a particularly nasty-looking man with rotten teeth and pale skin. Jon's hand unconsciously rested on the pommel of his sword, so it would be easier for him to draw it should he need to.

Luckily, there was no incident, and Jon, Arthur and Lord Mormont entered the Lord Commander's chambers, while Tyrion went about his own way, possibly to take a tour of the castle. Lord Mormont offered Arthur the only chair available in front of the office desk, while Jon stood near the door.

"So, what is it that requires urgent discussion?" asked Arthur, looking at Lord Mormont with interest.

"We're running out of men," said Lord Mormont. "Rangings beyond the Wall are becoming more dangerous. Less rangers are coming back and those that do talk of a massive army of Wildlings marching towards us."

"How large do you estimate the army to be?" asked Arthur.

"My more reliable rangers say around one hundred thousand," said Mormont.

Jon's eyes widened, while Arthur shifted in his seat.

"One hundred thousand? And all of them are coming this way?" said Arthur incredulously.

"Indeed. And according to my men, they're being led by Mance Rayder, a former ranger of the Night's Watch. They call him the King-Beyond-The-Wall," said Mormont.

"I will admit I do not know much about Wildlings, but I know that they're dangerous warriors. Even the women know how to wield a sword," mused Arthur.

"Correct, but there have been other reports... far stranger than anything I've heard in my life," said Mormont hesitantly.

"What kind of reports?" asked Arthur.

Mormont didn't speak for a few minutes, instead choosing to stand up and look out the thin window of his solar. When he did speak though, it was of the voice of a man who was haunted by ghosts.

"We have had a lot of deserters in recent months, and every single one we have brought back tells the same story," he said. "There have been many strange symbols found in the forests beyond the Wall, symbols made of the mutilated bodies of Wildlings and animals. We originally thought it to be some Wildling cult, but our men, particularly the deserters, talk of something far worse.

"What do you know of the Others?" Mormont asked suddenly, staring straight at Jon.

"The Others, my Lord?" said Jon in surprise. At Mormont's beckoning, Jon continued. "Not much. Just they dwelt in the Land of Always Winter and fought against the Children of the Forest and First Men. That they were driven as far North as possible by the Last Hero and that the Wall was built to keep them out of the Realms of Men should they return. But it is just a story, is it not?"

"What have the deserters told you?" asked Arthur.

Mormont sighed. "Bits and pieces. The dead coming back to life, creatures made of ice with eyes that glow blue in the darkness. They ride undead beasts and command the dead to kill the living."

"And you actually believe this?" asked Arthur, scoffing slightly at the notion.

"When enough people start telling the same story, it is best to start paying attention," said Mormont gravely. He turned away from the window and sat back down behind his desk. "This is why I have asked of the King's assistance. If the rumours are true, and the Wildlings _are_ fleeing the dead, then I need more men to guard the Wall. So far, all I have left are six hundred and fifty men guarding from the Shadow Tower to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. It is not enough to defend the Wall."

"I see," said Arthur quietly. "I am not sure how this message would be accepted, but I am of the firm belief that many in King's Landing would scoff at the notion of the return of 'White Walkers' and the walking dead."

"The Starks can turn into giant wolves and yet they would find what I speak of to be hard to believe?" said Mormont incredulously.

"Many in King's Landing don't even believe in the Starks' power," said Arthur. "But I have seen it for myself," he added, looking at Jon.

Mormont followed Arthur's gaze and a wide grin split across the man's normally stoic face. "Ah, so you must be Brandon Stark's son," he said.

"I am," said Jon. He was quite pleased that the man did not call him a bastard, like most other lords would.

"I knew your father. He was a good man. Stupid, but good. Though I must say you look more like Lord Eddard than your father," commented Mormont. He turned back to Arthur. "How soon can you send word back to King's Landing?"

"I am not sure. The king wished for us to address him personally, so I am hoping to leave within the month, if only to catch up to the king's party on the Kingsroad," stated Arthur. "Though in truth I fear that Lord Tyrion will wish to stay for a number of weeks."

"Well in that case I offer a tour of the lands north of the Wall," said Mormont. "It is a perilous place, but I'll send my best men with you."

"Perhaps," said Arthur thoughtfully.

oOoOoOo

Even after over a week of being at Castle Black, Jon couldn't get over how spectacular the place was. Straightway after the meeting with the Lord Commander concluded, Jon and Arthur had gone up to the top of the Wall, and Jon had fallen in love with the sight.

From that high, it was a sight unlike any other. Jon could see for miles and miles, so far in fact that he could see where the horizon disappeared to the East and West. The land was white, and it felt like Jon was flying above the clouds.

When Jon wasn't standing on top of the Wall, he was either making conversation with the men of the Night's Watch, or training with Arthur. He had learned that Ser Alliser Throne, Castle Black's master-at-arms, preferred to beat his men senseless rather than teach them how to actually fight.

When Jon questioned Arthur about it, he had shrugged. "He hates being here," Arthur had said. "He used to serve the Targaryens before the Rebellion and was forced to take the Black. Actually when I knew him he was quite a jolly fellow."

That much was obvious. So Jon took it upon himself to teach some of the new recruits how to properly fight, using the same teaching methods Arthur had taught him. Many appreciated Jon for his efforts, and Jon had quickly made friends with some of the new recruits, including two fellow lowborn men named Pyp and Grenn.

Jon had grown oddly close to Lord Mormont as well, who would often regal Jon with tales of his father. Mormont seemed to have been quite close to the late Brandon Stark, and told Jon about his skill with a sword, calling him the best swordsman in the North, and possibly most of the South as well. Jon took comfort in the fact that Mormont wasn't afraid of talking about Jon's father, unlike two of his uncles. Arthur refused because of his hatred for Brandon, while Uncle Ned merely felt uncomfortable with the subject and would often grow sullen and send Jon away.

One day, when Jon was sparring with the recruits, somebody growled angrily. Jon turned around to see Ser Alliser, standing there with a look of pure hatred on his face.

"What do you think you're doing?" he barked angrily.

"Sparring ser," said Jon politely. "Ser Arthur said I have to keep up my training, and I thought I could teach these men something as well."

Thorne took a step forward and squared his shoulders. Jon didn't flinch or betray any emotion as the bigger man stepped so closely he had to look up to meet his eyes.

"I am the master-at-arms here, bastard, not you," Throne growled.

"With all due respect ser," said Jon quietly, not taking his eyes off Thorne, "I do not see any teaching here, only a man taking his anger out on defenseless boys. I have yet to see him fight against real opponents."

"And you are a real opponent?" scoffed Thorne.

"Of course not ser," said Jon with mock politeness, "It would be foolish of me to challenge an experienced knight."

Thorne smirked arrogantly. "You'll do," he said before shrugging off his black cloak and drawing his sword. "Let's see what the Sword in the Morning has taught you, boy."

Jon sighed. He had been hoping to avoid a confrontation with the man but he was as stubborn as they come. So he readied his sword and waited for Thorne to attack.

Arthur had taught him that most of the battle was in the mind. It was never good to lose your patience and strike first, because it could expose your weaknesses and make you that much more susceptible to making a mistake.

Unfortunately, Thorne had the same idea, and the two circled each other like predators, waiting for the other to make the first move. There was no contact, however, when somebody came into the courtyard, chanting loudly about having found two dead rangers on the other side of the Wall.

Thorne scowled, but sheathed his sword anyway and followed the man, leaving Jon by himself. He thought it a good idea to warn his uncle, so he went to their chambers. Jon found Arthur reading some messages delivered to him, and the knight looked up at Jon.

"Some dead rangers have been found," said Jon. "I thought you'd perhaps like to come have a look."

"Indeed. Thank you Jon. Perhaps we'll get some news worth sending back to the king," said Arthur as he stood up, buckling his sword belt around his waist before Jon led him out.

Jon asked some watchmen where the bodies were, and they were directed to the Lord Commander's solar. So Jon and Arthur climbed the old wooden steps to the solar and were allowed in by a man named Edd. Inside they saw Mormont looking over one of the bodies.

"Where's the second?" asked Arthur.

"Being looked over by maester Aemon," said Mormont.

"Do you know what killed him?" asked Jon as he and Arthur walked over to look at the dead man.

"No. Whatever weapon was used, it froze the man's blood upon impact," said Mormont gravely.

"What kind of weapon can do that?" said Arthur in surprise.

"None that I know of."

Just then two Black Brothers came into the solar, carrying the body of the second man. The body was carefully placed on the bench next to the first and the other left, once again leaving Jon, Arthur and Lord Mormont by themselves.

"Same thing with this man," muttered Mormont as he inspected the second body.

From the corner of his eye, Jon saw something move, but he ignored it.

"I'll have to take a report of this to the King," said Arthur then, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Can you have your maester send me a copy of his findings?"

"Of course ser," answered Mormont. "These were good men," he lamented.

Jon saw it again, the strange movement, and this time he couldn't ignore it. He gave Arthur and Mormont a quick glance, and they seemed to not have noticed it, so Jon walked over to the second body. When he got closer, Jon saw that the man's finger was twitching slightly.

"My lords!" exclaimed Jon. When the other two men turned to Jon he pointed a finger at the man's hand. "This man is still alive!"

"Impossible," stammered Mormont. "He was stabbed through the heart!"

"He looks like he's been dead for days as well," added Arthur, coming closer to Jon.

"But look," insisted Jon.

"What is this?" said Arthur, more to himself than anyone else.

The whole body began twitching randomly then, which turned into full on convulsions which shook the table. The man's body opened its eyes then, and they were an otherworldy colour of the coldest blue.

"What the-?!" was all Mormont was able to say before the body suddenly sprang up and leapt at him.

Whatever kind of black magic this was, Jon had never seen anything like it. The undead man pounced upon Mormont and tried to wrap its cold, dead fingers around his neck. Arthur and Jon both reacted quickly and tried to pull the corpse off the Lord Commander, but it was possessed by a strength no normal man could have. It threw Jon off it, sending him flying into the solar's desk where he crashed into a heap.

Arthur reacted far quicker and drew Dawn from its scabbard, and with one fluid swing, the blade took the thing's head off. But to everyone's surprise the monster kept trying to kill Mormont. Jon jumped from the ground and drew his sword, and together he and Arthur cut the undead to pieces until its parts could no longer function.

So focussed was everyone on the second body that they didn't see the first one jump from the table until it was too late. It jumped forward and tackled Arthur to the floor while kicking Jon away again. After making sure that both Jon and Arthur were down, the blue-eyed creature attempted to accomplish what the first could not and launched itself at Mormont.

With surprising speed and agility for an old man, Mormont sidestepped the body's attack and kicked it in the head, sending it sprawling to the floor. The body recovered quickly though and jumped at Mormont again.

Jon sat up from the cold, stone floor feeling dazed. His chest was aching painfully where the undead had kicked him and his head also hurt from when the first body had thrown him into the desk. He sat up and saw Arthur groaning on the ground, then he saw Mormont desperately trying to hold back his attacker. The body managed grasped hold of Mormont's throat and began squeezing.

Jon quickly sprang up and in one movement, transformed into the white direwolf. He pounced on the body from behind and, biting into its shoulder, he pulled it off Mormont. Mormont sucked in a deep breath while coughing at the sudden intake of air while Jon threw the creature away.

Black blood dripped from his mouth as Jon turned his massive white form around to face the undead creature, and he vaguely remembered Old Nan's stories about the undead servants of the Others being called wights.

The wight did not hesitate as it charged towards Jon, letting out a raspy shriek that curdled Jon's blood. Jon too attacked and being much larger and stronger than the wight, he overpowered it easily before sinking his fangs into the monster's throat and tore it out. He pressed his advantage, all the while the wight let out another scream, not of agony, but of defiance. Jon kept going though until nothing more was left of the wight except for a mangled mess that still tried to move.

The blood in Jon's mouth tasted foul and rotten, and he quickly tried to spit it out, but wolves could not spit. So he transformed and wiped away the black ooze in disgust before grabbing a torch that hung on the wall of the solar and set the remains ablaze. The room quickly filled with the stench of rotting meat and Jon rushed over to Arthur to see if he was alright.

"I'm fine lad," Arthur said, waving Jon away as he stood up shakily.

The wight stopped twitching then, its flesh becoming blackened and unrecognizable. Arthur grabbed another torch and set the other body on fire just to be sure. Satisfied that the wights would no longer attempt to kill them, Jon and Arthur approached Lord Mormont, who was still sitting against the wall and rubbing his neck soothingly.

"What the fuck was that?" swore Mormont.

"A wight," answered Jon incredulously. "I thought they were just stories, but now..." he drifted off.

"It seems at least some of the legends are true," finished Arthur, his face drawn into a deep scowl as he stared at the wights' remains.

"I will need to have a council with my men," said Mormont then, and marched out of his solar. When Jon and Arthur didn't follow, he came back. "Well, are you coming or not?!"

oOoOoOo

The entire hall was in complete disarray. Everybody was trying to talk over the man next to them, spouting off who knows what. The company was divided: half of the men wished to march North of the Wall to find out what was bringing the dead back to life, while the other half, led by none other than Alliser Thorne, would rather stay behind and man the wall. Some of Thorne's company didn't even believe the events that had just happened inside the Lord Commander's solar two hours beforehand.

Jon stood behind Arthur dutifully, who was seated at the high table as a guest of honour next to Lord Mormont. All three men's faces were grim as they took in the chaos below them. Lord Tyrion, on the other hand, was watching everything unfold with an amused grin.

"SILENCE!" bellowed Lord Mormont when the squabbling became too much. Everybody turned to their Lord Commander and sat down, some with abashed looks, most with scowls.

"I will be sending a party North of the Wall to treat with the wildlings o find out about these 'undead'," Mormont proclaimed.

"You're treating with wildlings?!" shouted a man, Bowen Marsh, if Jon remembered correctly. "They have been our enemies since the Night's Watch was founded!"

There were several murmurs of agreement throughout the hall.

"I never said to trust them, only to talk. The undead may just be the reason why they've become more bold in attacking the Wall," said Mormont.

"But, but, they're _wildlings,_ " hissed another man.

"And you're a thief and a raper Karl," snapped Mormont. "At least wildlings are honest in what they are."

"Lord Commander, I beg the honour of joining this ranging," said Arthur then, much to the surprise of everyone, Jon included. "Perhaps a Kingsguard of Westeros would prove to be of use in treating with the Free Folk," he continued.

"I cannot ask you to do this," said Mormont gravely.

"As the representative to the King it is my duty, especially seeing as we could be looking at the beginning of another war," argued Arthur.

Mormont sighed and ran his large hand through what little hair he had left. "Very well then. But I must warn you ser, Beyond-the-Wall is like nothing you have ever faced before."

Arthur nodded his head but said nothing. As the meeting was adjourned, Jon wondered if he would join his uncle going over past the Wall or if he would stay behind.

oOoOoOo

"Here, let me show you something."

Lord Mormont reached over to his desk and grabbed the sheathed sword, handing it to Jon.

After the meeting, Jon had been summoned to the lord Commander's bedchambers. Admittedly, Jon had been confused, having never been asked to do so without Arthur joining him.

Jon grabbed the sword by the scabbard, turning it around in his hands to properly look at it. The scabbard was made of a fine black leather, the scabbard's sheath entry ringed with steel. When Jon drew the sword out of the scabbard, he gasped. It was a bastard sword, the blade dark as smoke and running through the centre of the blade was a strange, rippling pattern. It felt much lighter than Jon's own steel sword as he twirled it through the air expertly.

"This is Valyrian steel my Lord!" exclaimed Jon.

Mormont nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Indeed. This is Longclaw, the sword of House Mormont. It has been in my family for over five hundred years and used to belong to my son, Jorah before he dishonoured my family," explained Mormont. "At least he had the decency to return the sword to me before he fled across the Narrow Sea."

"You should be honoured to possess such a fine weapon my lord," said Jon reverently as he sheathed the sword and handed it back to Mormont.

However, the old man refused the sword. "It is no longer mine," he said. "I task you with Longclaw, Jon Snow, as a token of gratitude for your saving my life. But also as a sign of respect towards both of your parents' families."

"My lord I cannot take this..." began Jon.

"Ah! Too late, for I will refuse it anyway," said Mormont. "Besides, I have already had the pommel remade into the head of a direwolf. I figured the name suits a wolf as much as a bear."

Now that Jon had a closer look, the pommel was indeed the head of a white direwolf with glowing red eyes. _My wolf,_ thought Jon in wonder.

"I do not know what to say," said Jon, shaking his head in disbelief.

"How about thank you?" suggested Mormont with a wide grin and a clap on Jon's back. "Go now, I am sure you will use this blade as well as your uncle uses that Dawn of his."

With a swift bow to the Lord Commander, Jon quickly left the bedchambers to seek out Arthur. He found the famed knight in their personal quarters writing a letter, probably to King's Landing. Arthur looked up then when Jon came inside and his eyes zeroed in on the sword Jon was holding.

"Ah, I see the Lord Commander found it fit to reward you," commented Arthur with a soft smile.

"Yes Uncle," answered Jon, his own face breaking into a wide grin.

"May I see it?" asked Arthur as he stood up and walked around the desk, holding his hand out.

Jon handed his new weapon to Arthur and the knight inspected it carefully. When he pulled the sword out of its scabbard, he let out a low whistle of appreciation.

"Valyrian steel. There are not many of these left in Westeros, or even the known world. Such a gift is a great honour," complimented Arthur.

"Thank you Uncle. Though it is not like Dawn," said Jon.

"A weapon does not make a man Jon," said Arthur wisely. "Dawn is a great weapon to be sure, but it would be just another sword in the hands of a common man. You must work to be worthy of possessing such a weapon."

"Yes Uncle."

Arthur smiled then and handed Longclaw back to Jon. "Now, let us see how well you can wield a _real_ sword," he challenged.

It took Jon a little while to adjust to Longclaw, as it was longer and lighter than the previous sword he carried. However, its length and weight proved to be better for Jon's style of fighting. When Jon stated his intentions to give his old sword to Grenn, one of the Night's Watch newest recruits, Arthur stopped him.

"Keep two swords on you Jon," said Arthur.

"Why?" asked Jon in confusion.

"Because I use two swords. If you happen to lose one in a battle, you have a spare." Arthur leaned in closer then so only Jon could hear. "Besides, you are a lot scarier to your enemies when they see you swinging two swords at the same time."

So it was that when Jon climbed the top of his horse and guided it to stand next to Arthur's, he wore two swords on his belt, Longclaw on the left, and his steel sword, which he named Frostbite, on the right.

Jon heard the command to open the gate and it was through the dark tunnel that Uncle Benjen led the group of thirty rangers, including Jon and ser Arthur, into the white cold that plagued the true North.

oOoOoOo

"We have picked up tracks, my lord," said the older man, Qhorin, to Uncle Benjen.

"Wildlings?" asked Uncle Benjen.

Qhorin nodded his head. "Scouts, I believe. They're awfully close to our camp as well."

Jon sat close to the campfire, polishing Longclaw just as he had seen Uncle Ned do so many times before the weirwood tree at Winterfell. They had been in the true North for a little over three weeks now, and according to Uncle Benjen, they were nearing the Fist of the First Men. Arthur was standing next to Uncle Benjen while Qhorin delivered his report.

"Perhaps we could find these scouts and talk with them? Ask for safe passage to their capital?" suggested Arthur.

Qhorin snorted at that. "Wildlings would sooner put a knife to your back if you went out there to find them by yourself," he snorted.

"What about you, my lord? Perhaps you could track their scent with your wolf form?" Arthur said to Uncle Benjen, and Jon's head perked up as well.

"Maybe," said Uncle Benjen thoughtfully, "it depends on how fresh the tracks are though. With this wind though, the scent could easily be lost and the tracks covered with fresh snow."

"I could help," said Jon, standing up while sheathing Longclaw. "Two direwolves would be better than one."

Benjen laughed. "Spoken like a true Stark my boy!"

"How soon can we continue?" asked Arthur.

"As soon as possible," answered Benjen.

Breaking camp was a quick affair, for the only things everyone had to pack were their tents and blankets, before they were off again. Jon did not ride this time with Arthur, instead having been tasked with helping out Uncle Benjen in tracking the wildling party's scent. It also gave Jon ample time to stretch his legs and take in the sight of Beyond-the-Wall with his wolf eyes, and to smell the scents and hear the other animals in the forests and icy plains.

All animals feared the white wolf's presence, be it small or large. A shadowcat, however attempted to challenge Jon over an elk it had killed, but with a simple growl, the cat had sprinted away as fast as it could. Uncle Benjen was never far away, the smaller black wolf moving between the trees like a shadow, silent and deadly. The complete opposite of Jon, who though he blended in far better than Uncle Benjen, he never tried to hide his enormous frame.

There was one downside to being North of the Wall: his disconnection from the rest of the Starks. As soon as he had crossed over to the other side, Jon had felt the mental link to his cousins vanish. He had panicked when it happened at went to Uncle Benjen about it, but the First Ranger had merely brushed him off.

"It is the magic of the Wall," Uncle Benjen had explained. "Whatever magic it is that supposedly keeps the Other at bay, it disrupts the link we share with the rest of the pack."

That had been of little comfort, for Jon missed talking with Arya and Robb despite being separated from them.

Uncle Benjen was the first to pick up the sent, though Jon was not far behind.

 _Do you smell that?_ said Uncle Benjen through their mental link.

Jon could. Old furs of beasts long dead, bronze weapons, leather and sweat.

 _Wildlings?_ asked Jon.

 _Yes, and a small number of them too. Small numbers mean faster movement,_ said Uncle Benjen.

Jon's muzzle twitched as he took another whiff of the snow. _I smell a woman with them._

 _A spearwife, more than likely,_ affirmed Uncle Benjen. _They can't be more than a few hours ahead of us. Go back and tell the others what we found._

Jon quickly ran back to the waiting party, where Arthur and Qhorin were sitting on their horses expectantly. Jon transformed and explained the situation to them hurriedly.

"Did they have any horses with them?" asked Arthur.

"No. They are moving on foot," said Jon.

"We could catch up to them in a matter of hours if we hurry," said Qhorin.

"Indeed. Jon, lead the way," ordered Arthur, and Jon transformed back into his direwolf form, much to the panic of the horses, and ran through the icy forests, the company of horses following closely behind.

Jon and Uncle benjen ran at a half pace so that the horses were able to keep up, as direwolves were much faster than horses. It was an interesting company, what with two giant wolves leading a group of men wearing black riding horses, with one other man dressed in heavy furs and a white cloak billowing behind him.

As they ran, the scent of the wildlings grew stronger and stronger to the point where the scent was all through the forest. Jon and Uncle Benjen slowed down till they stopped. Arthur and the rangers slowed their horses down as well and looked at the direwolves expectantly.

Jon could hear voices echoing through the woods with his enhanced wolf hearing, and he was sure that the men with them could not.

 _I will explain to them what is going on,_ said Uncle Benjen. _You go on and have a closer look, try to see how many there are and report back._

 _Me?_ said Jon incredulously. _Why me?_

 _Because you're the wolf with the white fur,_ said Uncle Benjen, exasperation flowing through their connection.

 _Oh,_ said Jon. He could see the logic behind that then, so he bounded off into the woods, leaving Uncle Benjen alone to tell the men what was happening. Jon felt Uncle Benjen's consciousness fade away as he transformed back into a human, and Jon was left by himself.

Jon slowed his pace as the voices grew louder, and he sank into a crouch when he walked over a crest in the snow. He saw about twenty men crowded around a large fire, all of them laughing and speaking raucously. They were all wearing mismatched furs and cloaks, and a great many of them had knives, swords and axes made of bronze, the metal glimmering from the firelight.

"Fucking crows," Jon heard a large man with a long grey beard growl. "What are so many of them doing out here?"

"Mance won't be happy to hear them coming so close to camp," said another, this time an ugly old man with a hideous scar running down his face.

"The White Walkers have killed a few of their men as well," said a young woman with long red hair, to Jon's surprise. "No doubt they think it was us that killed em."

"There were two other men with them," said the first man. "They weren't wearing the crows furs. One of them had a nice white cloak and a mighty fine sword."

"Aye, I saw that sword. Never seen a blade like it in me life before. The blade was pale as milk it was," agreed the woman.

"I'd like to take that pretty sword off that man's dead body," laughed the scarred man.

"He could probably use that thing better than you know how to use your cock!" said a different man, earning laughs from several men around the camp. "He looked like one of them knights we occasionally see on the Wall!"

"Fucking southerners, they all act the same," grumbled the scarred man.

"What about the other man? The pretty boy?" said the woman. "He had a pretty nice sword as well."

"Are talking about his sword or his cock, Ygritte?" laughed the first man.

"How about I cut your cock off and feed it to the wights?" snapped the woman, Ygritte.

The first man merely waved her off. "Aye, he's a pretty boy alright. But they're all going to die sooner or later. If we don't kill em, the White Walkers will."

Jon had heard enough then, so he snuck away as quietly as he could and ran back to the waiting knight and black brothers.

"I counted about twenty of them," said Jon once he transformed. "They don't know we're close to them."

"We could surround them, stop any from escaping?" suggested Qhorin.

"We aren't here to kill them," said Arthur disapprovingly.

"No, but we need to give them pause so that they'll listen to us," said Benjen. "We have more men than them, and horses. If we surround them they'll be forced to talk."

"And with two direwolves as well they'll probably shit themselves too," added Qhorin.

"Aye, that they would," agreed Benjen.

"Alright, let's go," said Arthur spurning his horse forwards.

The rangers split off into two groups, the first led by Uncle Benjen and Qhorin, while Arthur and Jon went with the second group. Jon's group moved around to the right of the wildling camp and spread out, the last man on either side stretching out to meet the other group. Arthur told Jon then to turn back into a wolf, and the young bastard eagerly complied.

A low howl was heard then from the other side of the camp and Jon responded with his own howl then charged, leading the night's Watch onwards towards the camp. Many of them drew their swords and let out battle cries of their own. Arthur drew Dawn, and the famous blade practically shone in the darkness of night.

The wildlings had barely any time to prepare, and by the time they had all stood up, the rangers were already upon them. Jon leapt forward and tackled the redheaded woman to the ground and bared his fangs inches from her terrified face, growling quietly while Benjen did the same to the scarred man Jon had seen earlier.

"Lower your weapons!" shouted Arthur pointing Dawn at the tall, grey bearded man threateningly. "Lower your weapons and you have my oath that no harm will come to you!"

Some of the wildlings quickly complied, with the grey beard man being the last to do so. When all the others had surrendered Jon hopped off Ygritte, still snarling quietly at her.

"The fuck do you want Southerner," growled the scarred man.

"To talk," answered Arthur, lowering his weapon but still holding it. "We wish to speak to your leader in peace."

"Ha!" spat the scarred man. "All you kneelers are the same. You speak soft words but as soon as we turn our backs you stab us in our sleep!"

"We're not here to fight," said Arthur placatingly.

Jon transformed into a man again, earning gasps from several wildlings.

"He's a fucking Stark!" shouted the grey beard.

"Bloody hell," whispered Ygritte.

Jon drew Longclaw and went to stand by Arthur.

"Who is in command here?" asked Arthur.

Grey beard stepped forward. "I am," he said gruffly.

"What is your name?"

"Fingers." said man pointed to the necklace he wore, which had several finger bones dangling from it.

"Fingers, we wish to speak with the leader of your people," said Arthur.

"You want to talk to Mance Rayder?" said Fingers in surprise. "Why the fuck would you want to talk to him?"

"Because we want to know about these 'wights' that have been attacking the Night's Watch and your people."

The wildlings all shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting from one to another.

"Why does it matter to you?" Fingers asked then.

"Because if they're all as hard to kill as the ones we fought, it means that this is a threat to the entire realm," answered Arthur gravely.

Fingers shared a look with the scarred man. "We'll take you to him," Fingers decided, "but don't expect a welcome party. And the crows stay outside the camp. Only you and your pretty boy can come."

"You have my word," swore Arthur, placing a fist over his heart.

oOoOoOo

"That's a giant!" Jon whispered excitedly to Arthur, pointing at the enormous creature behind them.

Arthur could only nod his head in agreement, his own eyes wide with amazement.

"It seems that Beyond-the-Wall is the place where the stories live and breath," Arthur mused in awe.

"Hurry the fuck up kneelers!" shouted Fingers from up ahead.

Jon and Arthur quickly picked up the pace to follow Fingers and his band of wildlings through the massive camp. They ignored the dark looks being sent their way by the horde of wildlings, but Jon couldn't help but let his eyes wander. There were thousands of them, men, women, children, all with the same hardened look. Most of them, including the women, carried weapons of various sorts from swords to spears, axes to bows.

Ygritte kept sneaking glances at Jon, which he tried his best to ignore and did well if he thought so himself. Arthur remained stoic under the glare of so many wildlings, though Jon could see his hand twitching on the pommel of Dawn, ready for a fight should it come it that. Jon too kept his hand on the direwolf head of Longclaw, drawing comfort from the pommel as his eyes darted to and fro, searching for potential threats as Arthur had drilled into him.

They were led to a large tent made of furs and wood, and Fingers opened the flap. Arthur nodded his head gratefully as he ducked into the tent, followed closely by Jon, who gave one last look backwards.

It was warm inside, though a little stuffy. There were several men already waiting inside, all of them glaring at the knight and squire. A particularly large man with a long red beard stepped in front of Jon and Arthur, barring them from further entry.

"What's this, Fingers?" asked the enormous man. Jon spotted his hands reaching down to grasp the hilt of a wicked looking long knife.

"They wanted to talk to Mance," answered Fingers.

"They don't look like crows," observed the man, "they're dressed far too fancy."

"We are representatives of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," said Arthur boldly.

"I don't give a fuck who you are, I'll kill you just the-" threatened the large man.

"Enough Tormund! These men represent their king, and we must treat them as guests," interrupted a man from the back.

Tormund huffed but said nothing, stepping aside so that Jon and Arthur could continue onwards into the tent.

"Mance Rayder, I presume," said Arthur, bowing slightly to the man.

"Aye, that be me. And you are Kingsguard," observed Mance.

"I am. My name is Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning."

"Yes, I know who you are. I recognised your sword," said Mance, pointing to Dawn.

"I was not aware that the Free Folk had heard of me," said Arthur in surprise.

"They don't. But I was a man of the Night's Watch before deserting," Mance replied bluntly. His eyes shifted over to Jon then. "And who might this be?"

"This is Jon Snow, my squire and nephew," said Arthur, while Jon bowed in respect.

Some of the wildlings laughed at Jon's show of respect to the King Beyond the Wall, yet Mance gave him an appraising smile.

"A Snow eh? And whose bastard might you be?" asked Mance.

"Brandon Stark's, Your Grace," answered Jon ruefully. His words were met with more laughter and even Mance chuckled, though not mockingly.

"Here, us Free Folk don't care for titles and courtesies, Jon Snow," said Mance, beckoning Jon to stand. "Now, what brings you so far North, away from your warm castles and lands?"

"The wights," said Arthur.

Jon could instantly feel the mood darken heavily, and many of the wildlings inside shuffled on their feet warily.

"Ah. The Others," mused Mance quietly, stroking the scraggly beard on his face.

"Mance, we shouldn't talk about this to these kneelers," cautioned Tormund.

"They traveled a long way for this information, and we might as well be allies with our old enemies if we have a chance against the dead," said Mance. "Now," he continued, "what would you like to know about them?"

"What are they? Where do they come from? How do we kill them?" fired off Arthur.

"Good questions, all difficult to answer," said Mance. "What are they? They are the ones who bring forth Winter and the Long Night. They are the ones who have driven us from our lands and seek to bring all into their army.

"The wights are those killed by the Others. When they die, they are brought back to be puppets, to feed their growing army. Very difficult to kill they are. The only way we have truly brought down a wight is by fire, or by dismantling them so they are unable to function properly. But they are easy to kill compared to their masters.

"The Others are monsters of ice and death. Their flesh and weapons are so cold the strongest steel freezes and shatters when touched. They move with a grace and speed none have ever seen before. They command the dead, and the dead obey."

"Have you seen an Other?" asked Arthur.

"I have," said Mance. "It was the reason I deserted the Night's Watch in the first place. And believe me when I say that those fancy swords you two carry won't save you. Nothing can stop them, unless we run away as far south as possible."

"Surely there must be some way to kill them?" asks Arthur incredulously.

Mance and Tormund share a look.

"There is some stories circulating around the camp," said Tormund. "Of a man who killed a White Walker with a dagger made of dragonglass."

"Does this man dwell with you?" inquired Arthur.

"Aye, but they say that the experience left him half-mad," said Tormund.

"Can you take us to him?"

"The boy can go, you stay," said Mance. "I would like to hear of the South, if it suits you."

So with Arthur's permission, Jon followed Tormund out of the massive tent outside. They passed by another giant, much to Jon's continued amazement. Spearwives gossiped and haggled with one another, children ran amongst the camps, playing with each other. Jon noticed a good many wildlings looked his way with scorn in their eyes, though he tried to follow his uncle's example and ignore it all.

However, that was not to be when a bald man with scars on his face and wielding a wicked battleaxe stepped in his path.

"You don't dress like a crow," the bald wildling said.

"I am not a man of the Night's Watch," answered Jon passively.

"And yet you walk with them. That's good enough for me," the man spat, and he raised his battleaxe high into the air to bring it down on Jon's head.

Jon sidestepped the blow and raised his hands in the air. "I am not here to fight," yelled Jon placatingly. He glanced over towards Tormund, who was watching the spectacle amusedly.

"I'm here to kill kneelers. Perhaps when I'm done with you, I'll pay your master a visit!" snarled the man and he charged again.

Jon ducked another of the man's swings and he drew Longclaw, holding it out in a defensive position. He parried the wildling's next few attacks, all of which staggered Jon backwards slightly. A crowd had gathered around them now and were leering at Jon's pathetic attempts to defend himself.

He had never been in a life-or-death fight before, and he certainly never expected it to happen while being treated amongst the wildlings he was supposed to be helping save.

"Fucking die kneeler!" bellowed the man and he brought his battleaxe down one last time. Jon dodged the blow and the axe smacked into the ground, its side burying into the frozen earth. Jon took advantage of the delay and with one swing, the wildling's head came clean off his shoulders.

Jon was stunned. Killing a man wasn't supposed to feel tainting, it was supposed to be heroic to slay your enemy. He remembered Uncle Ned's words then. " _The first time is always the hardest."_

The rest of the wildlings gathered look stunned at how fast Jon killed the man, but soon the booming laughter of Tormund echoes through the camp. "Fucking Thenns!" he laughs, and soon the others are laughing, much to Jon's confusion.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked when Tormund came back to Jon's side and pushed them through the crowd.

"On the contrary, you did something very right," said Tormund. "Even amongst the Free Folk, Thenns are wild and dangerous. Their swords are so far up their arses that they can taste the blade from their mouths."

Jon didn't know what that meant, but said nothing and continued to follow Tormund to the edges of the camp. They stopped at a shabby hut, that reeked of rotting meat and sour milk. A man sat on a log, his fingers twitching uncontrollably and his eyes darted everywhere.

"Oi! Vorun! You got a fucking visitor!" bellowed Tormund.

Vorun's head whipped around to look at Jon and Tormund, and his eyes widened in fear.

"No! I didn't do it! I swear I didn't!" yelped the man.

"Oh shut the fuck up ya mad cunt," growled Tormund. He looked at Jon then. "Well? Ask him!"

Jon straightened up and approached the maniac cautiously. "The White Walker. How did you kill it?" he asked.

Vorun blanched, his eyes widening even more in panic.

"White Walkers! They're coming to kill us all! We will soon all join their ranks and destroy the realms of men!" shouted Vorun.

"How did you kill it? Did you use dragonglass?" pressed Jon, ignoring the man's ravings.

"Dragonglass! Not enough! Not enough!" screeched Vorun, his hands moving up to cover his ears.

"We're getting nowhere with him. His mind has gone even more than the last time I came here," grumbled Tormund, and even Jon had to agree.

He sighed and turned to follow Tormund away from the hut, leaving Vorun alone with his rambling.

oOoOoOo

To say that Jon and Arthur had earned the favour of the wildlings would be an understatement. After Jon had left Vorun to return to Mance's tent, they had found Arthur polishing Dawn amidst the corpses of several dead Thenns. So between Jon and Arthur killing members of the most hated clan of the wildlings, they had earned the respect of many of the hardened Free Folk.

They were still hated, that much was certain and not all together trusted, but the wildlings respected them. Though it still shook Jon that he had taken a man's life. Killing two wights was vastly different from a living, breathing human being. Arthur had comforted him, reiterating Uncle Ned's words.

"I still remember the first man I killed," Arthur had told him late one night. "This kill will be with you for as long as you live. The other lives you take will be easier."

"Is that a good thing?" Jon remembered asking. "To become numb to the pain and suffering we cause?"

For that, Arthur had no answer.

The one hundred thousand wildlings were approaching the largest settlement North of the Wall, Hardhome. It wasn't much of an actual city, just a few old wooden houses and walls. It was settled next to the ocean, a constant icy breeze billowing through the houses and huts that lined the shore. Jon took comfort in the salty smell, for it reminded him of the one time his lord uncle had allowed him to travel to White Harbour.

Arthur approached Jon from behind, where he stood on one of the old docks on the beach. His hand was constantly resting on the pommel of Dawn, ready for a fight.

"It is getting colder," noted Arthur.

Jon nodded in agreement. "Mance believes that the Others are following us," he said quietly.

"A stranger came into Hardhome this morning," said Arthur conversationally, earning Jon's full attention. "We couldn't see her features as she was wearing a hooded cloak, but she was carrying a satchel full of dragonglass daggers, and another full of hundreds of dragonglass arrowheads."

"Did she say anything?" asked Jon in surprise.

"Only to use the daggers and arrowheads wisely. She left straight after that," answered Jon.

"She sounded pretty certain that dragonglass would kill the White Walkers," commented Jon.

"Aye she did."

Jon took a deep breath of salty sea air. "This seems hard to believe, doesn't it? The old stories coming back to life, the dead marching on the living."

"Indeed. But I fear that upon our return, the court will not believe us," said Arthur gravely. "They might think us mad for believing in such foolishness, yet they will soon learn."

"Let us hope it does not come to that," said Jon.

Just then Ygritte approached them. "Mance wants a word with you two," she said, eyeing Jon like he was a piece of meat which left him feeling extremely uncomfortable.

Arthur, ever the stoic knight, merely smiled and bowed at the red-haired girl before leading the way to one of the larger houses.

"She reminds me of your cousin, Arya," said Arthur.

"But Ygritte would not have a problem cutting our throats in our sleep," replied Jon.

"True," said Arthur with a laugh. "Then again, most wildling women remind me of your cousin."

Jon had to admit that Arya would love to live amongst the wildlings, where the women were free to carry weapons and fight alongside the men instead of being used as bartering chips like behind the Wall. It had a certain appeal to Jon as well, as nobody here cared that he was a bastard. He could earn the respect of others through good deeds, by being a warrior.

Ygritte led them inside the largest house, one that had a great bonfire in the centre, where many of the chieftains of the clans of Free Folk gathered around. Uncle Benjen stood alone in a dark corner, his black furs helping him blend in nicely into the shadows. Mance and his pregnant wife Dalla were directly in front of everyone.

"How nice of you to join us Ser Arthur and squire Jon," said Mance.

"You summoned us?" asked Arthur.

Mance nodded his head. "Indeed I did. With all the clan chieftains here today, I thought we would like to discuss the plans you have of getting us over the Wall to safety."

"Our plan hasn't been fully fleshed out," said Arthur, sparing a glance Jon's way. "But we know that the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch is willing to offer you safe haven in the Gift. Once we get back, Jon and I will travel South to King's Landing and petition King Robert to send more men to guard the Wall. I will also ask that dragonglass be mined from Dragonstone to be fashioned into weapons against the Others."

There was scattered muttering amongst the chieftains and spearwives as they discussed the merits of Arthur's plan.

"I sense a but in there," said a tough-looking spearwife whose name was Karsi.

Arthur nodded. "All we ask is that you help us fight the White Walkers when they march on the Wall."

"How do we know you simply aren't leading us to our deaths?" asked a Thenn, the Magnar as they called him.

"You have my word that no harm will come upon you," swore Arthur.

The Magnar scoffed. "The word of a fucking kneeler? I'd sooner pluck my own eyes out," he spat, and other chieftains nodded their heads in agreement to Jon's dismay.

Jon noticed that Mance had said nothing, appearing to be lost in thought. He looked up then and caught Jon's eye, and a mutual understanding passed between them.

"We will go," said Mance, silencing the gathered council. "We will go beyond the Wall and seek the aid of the southern kings and their armies."

"You cannot be serious Mance," said the Magnar incredulously. ""Their people have slaughtered ours for centuries!"

"And we have done the same to them," spat Mance. "I say that the debt is repaid. They are not asking for much, only that we fight together when the Others come."

There was silence as the wildlings thought about what Mance said. Finally Tormund stepped forward.

"I don't trust these southern knights, but I trust your judgement Mance," he said. "If you say we go with them, we're right behind you."

"As am I," said Karsi, followed by several other clan chieftains.

The Thenn Magnar, however, looked positively mutinous. "You would break bread with our enemy?" he demanded angrily.

"The Others are more our enemy than the South," stated Mance.

The Magnar shook his head. "I will not bow to kneelers," he growled, stepping forward to stare Jon eye to eye. "You can take your pretty glass weapons and fancy armour elsewhere. You're our enemy, you always will be." And with that, the Magnar marched out of the tent, followed by his men and a couple other chieftains.

"I fucking hate Thenns," grumbled Karsi.

oOoOoOo

Jon was helping pack up the belongings of an elderly woman alongside Ygritte, who was ushering a group of children towards a pair of spearwives. The entire settlement was preparing to evacuate south to the Wall. Thousands of men and women were rushing around the camp like ants in a disturbed nest, calling out for loved ones and carrying anything of value.

"They are scared," said Jon to Ygritte. His enhanced sense of smell could detect the fear that permeated the air, and it was quite stifling, like smoke.

"We're moving to lands very few of my people have journeyed to, being chased by an army of the dead. They have a right to be scared," replied Ygritte.

"We will help your people, I promise," swore Jon.

Ygritte opened her mouth to answer when suddenly the temperature plummeted to beyond freezing. Dogs started barking madly, the mammoths shrieked trumpeting calls and shuffled on their massive feet. White mist began crawling down the cliffs and Jon could hear the beginnings of a storm. People stared to scream, warriors drew their swords and began running to the gates of Hardhome, barking orders to other fighters.

"What's happening?!" shouted Jon over the wind.

"The Others, they're here!" yelled Ygritte, grabbing her bow from her should and nocking a flaming arrow. "Follow me!"

Jon and Ygritte ran to the gates, where they found Mance, Arthur and Karsi. Arthur was holding Dawn in his right hand, while both Karsi and Mance had drawn their weapons as well.

"Can we hold the gate?" asked Arthur.

"No, we have to get everyone out of here as soon as possible," answered Mance. "Loboda! Get some men to light those bonfires! Create a path to the forest!"

Loboda, a Thenn with a massive battleaxe, nodded his head and ran away from them, yelling for men to follow him.

"How many are in their army?" asked Jon.

"We have the numbers, but the for every one of us that fall, the Others gain a new soldier," said Karsi.

"We have to make sure the women and children get to safety," said Mance. "Ser Arthur, Jon, I need men to take charge of this. Can I count on you?"

Arthur and Jon shared a look before Arthur spoke for the both of them. "We will protect your people with our lives."

"Good. Find Tormund. He'll know what to do."

Arthur and Jon took off outside the gates, Jon drawing Longclaw from its sheath. They found Tormund assembling a group of raiders and he waved them over when he saw them.

"The fuckers are coming from down there," said Tormund, pointing at the mist that was falling down the cliffs. "They'll be coming in swarms, so try not to get separated from the rest of us, cause you'll be dead. Our job is to kill any of those cunts that manage to get past the fires."

Jon nodded understanding, and saw when the first of the wights began charging. From the corner of his eyes he saw two long lines of fire light up, creating a path for the wildlings to travel between, and the wights shied away from there.

"Alright you ugly fuckers! Let's go kill some dead men!" bellowed Tormund and charged towards the fires. The other raiders let out cries of rage of their own and followed him, Jon and Arthur close behind.

The wildlings were doing well to hold back the dead, and from what Jon could see nobody had died yet. Wights were cut down and thrown into the fires, while others fell to flaming arrows.

Jon saw one skeletal wight charging towards him, so he spun around and with one powerful swing of Longclaw, he cut the monster clean in half. He kicked its upper body into the nearest fire before it could crawl forwards and attack him, and the creature hissed in agony before becoming still..

During the fighting, other Free Folk were running scared between the line of fires, clutching their children and belongings tightly. Uncle Benjen was leading the horde of wildlings, his black direwolf form a stark contrast to the billowing wind and snow. Jon turned around just as a wight missing half its head swung a sword, and he ducked his head and the sword swung where his neck had been just a second ago. He quickly cut the limbs from the wight and decapitated another, when he saw them.

They were only dark outlines in the snow, but he could feel the cold radiating from them even from the bottom of the cliffs from which they stood atop of. There were five of them, and they rode on undead horses, the black armour they wore intimidating and looking like they were the stuff of nightmares, which they were, Jon thought. He could not see their skin, for it blended in with the icy landscape, but their eyes glowed like icy gems that sent shivers down Jon's spine.

Arthur and Tormund noticed the White Walkers as well, for they looked up in the same direction as Jon, their faces stricken in horror.

"By the Seven, they truly are real," whispered Arthur, and it was the first time Jon had seen his uncle look scared.

"We've got to get the people moving faster," said Tormund, "If the icy bitches themselves are here, we're in for a whole load of getting fucked."

"Where is Mance?" shouted Jon, cutting another wight down with Longclaw. "Someone needs to warn him!"

"He'll be back at the settlement!" shouted Ygritte as she shot a burning arrow into another wight's skull.

"Jon, don't you think of-" warned Arthur, but Jon had already sprinted off back to Hardhome to find Mance.

He ducked to avoid the swinging club of one of the giants, the huge weapon obliterating a dozen wights with a single swing. Jon ignored that however, and continued his charge back, but was stopped by the Magnar, accompanied by several of his men.

"Deserting us already, kneeler?" hissed the Magnar.

"I have to find mance! The White Walkers are here!" yelled Jon angrily, pointing his finger up to the top of the cliffs.

The Magnar's face turned grim when his gaze followed Jon's outstretched hand.

"Tormund also need more men!" continued Jon.

"Go," growled the Magnar, and some of his Thenns left them. "I'm coming with you," he continued to Jon.

Jon nodded his assent and the two men ran back to the middle of the settlement as fast as they could, cutting through wights and other undead creatures. All around him Jon could see people falling to the sword of the dead, and Jon prayed that most of the people had fled the village already.

They found the main lodging guarded by one giant, and the huge creature stepped aside to let them in. They found Mance standing by the fire, a look of contemplation on his weary features.

"Mance!" called out Jon. The wildling king looked at him. "The Others, they've joined the battle."

"Fuck," swore Mance. "Is everyone out of Hardhome yet?"

"I'm not sure, but it's a massacre out there! Your people are dying as we speak!" said Jon desperately.

"We have to get you out of here," added the Magnar. "Without you, the clans will fall apart."

"Let's go," agreed Mance, and the group left, this time with the giant following them.

They had to take several detours through the village, as swarms of wights blocked many paths. It was difficult as the giant attracted much attention, but any resistance was swiftly put down. They lost two Thenns on the way out, but the Magnar put them to the torch he was holding to prevent them from coming back.

Just as they reached the outer gates to the path of fire, they froze. Standing there alone, was a White Walker, wielding a sword made of the sharpest blade of ice Jon had ever seen. Its sunken blue eyes was staring straight at them, its white hair billowing in the wind.

"Get Mance out of here!" shouted the Magnar, and their men and the giant took Mance another route, leaving Jon and the Magnar to deal with the Walker.

"You ready to die?" asked the Magnar gruffly. "Because that's what's going to happen."

"As long as everyone gets to safety, I'm ready," said Jon bravely, though he felt anything but.

Jon and the Magnar circled around the White Walker cautiously. Jon had no idea what the monster was capable of, but according to the wildlings they were a force to be reckoned with. The Walker regarded the two men with a bored look, standing still as a frozen statue.

The Magnar attacked first and swung his battleaxe at the Walker, and with impossible speed and grace, it spun out of the way of the axe. Jon was too stunned by the Walker to realise it was standing a few feet from him, and the monster backhanded him with an icy fist. Jon was sent flying to the ground, dropping Longclaw, and he gasped for air. He felt blood fill his mouth, and something wet trickled down his left brow and into his eye.

The Magnar swore loudly and continued to swing wildly but the White Walker kept dodging effortlessly. _He's playing with us,_ thought Jon as he struggled to get up, his mind dazed after the blow. He watched as the Other used its icy sword to block another attack, and the Magnar's axe shattered into tiny shards upon impact. Before Jon could shout a warning, the Other impaled the Magnar straight through the chest before tossing his body away carelessly.

Jon scrambled to his feet and pulled Frostbite from its sheath. Man and monster circled each other, assessing each other. The Walker's face gave away no emotion, merely regarding Jon blankly, as though he was beneath its notice.

Jon attacked first, executing numerous combos that the Other deftly avoided. It wanted Jon to get frustrated, he realised, to make a mistake. Jon however kept a cool head and tried to kept the Walker on the defensive, for if the Other tried to press its advantage Jon would surely die.

The Walker, however, had other ideas and as Jon swung Frostbite from the side, the Walker's sword went up and shattered the steel blade. Jon saw its next attack coming and ducked under the ice sword's swing, but he missed the kick to the chest, which sent him sprawling on the ground several feet away and gasping for air.

Jon felt his ribs protest in pain and he knew they were at least fractured, but Jon ignored it and crawled towards Longclaw. He could hear the Walker coming towards Jon slowly, like a cat stalking a mouse. He grabbed the Valyrian sword and brought it up just as the Other swung its blade in a last ditch effort to protect himself.

 _CLANG!_ The cold bite of the ice sword never came, and Longclaw held, much to Jon's complete astonishment. The Walker's glowing blue eyes widened in surprise as well, but Jon did not have time to dwell on that. He forced the ice sword away and before the Other could react, Jon swung Longclaw with a loud cry. Longclaw sliced straight through the Other's armour, and it shattered to a million icy pieces.

Jon let out a loud, shuddering breath as he collapsed to his knees, but he did not have time to rest. Somebody grabbed his shoulder and Jon instinctively raised his sword to challenge his attacker. However, it was only Tormund, and his eyes weren't glowing blue like a wight's. _Or a White Walker._

Jon could feel the eyes of one of the Others boring into him, and Jon looked up the cliff to see the Walker saddled in the middle of the five. It looked different from the other Walkers. It had no white hair and was leaner than the others. Its head was crowned with icy horns. Its blue eyes were focussed on him and Jon quickly looked away.

"We have to get out of here! Hardhome has fallen!" shouted Tormund over the wind.

"Valyrian steel... it can kill Walkers..." wheezed Jon.

"Aye, your pretty sword can kill Walkers, but that wont do much if we don't get out of here!" bellowed Tormund in response as he dragged Jon up from his knees.

They ran as fast as they could, avoiding the arrows, the swords and the dead. All around Jon the air was filled with the sounds of howling winds and the screams of the dying. The fires that marked the path were scattered with holes, which the wights filed through, eager to taste the flesh of the living.

"Get on my back!" yelled Jon as he sheathed Longclaw, inspired with an idea to get him and Tormund to safety.

"What- oh fuck!" swore Tormund as Jon transformed into his direwolf form.

Tormund wasted no time and climbed up onto Jon's back, and he felt Tormund's large hands grab hold of his fur to hold himself. Jon lurched forward and sprinted away as fast as he could, sidestepping bodies and arrows and leaping over wights that tried to block his path.

Nothing could catch up to them then, and soon they left behind the dead and dying to their fates. They quickly caught up to the stragglers of the wildling horde, what was left of them anyway. Jon ignored them in favour of finding Mance, and hopefully, his uncle.

He ignored the scents of blood and sweat, trying to find a scent that was familiar. he did not have to though, for he felt Uncle Benjen's presence enter into his mind.

 _Jon!_ Uncle Benjen shouted through their mental link.

 _I am here,_ said Jon wearily.

 _Are you alright?_

 _Tired and sore. I have seen enough death for a lifetime. Where are you?_

Jon's eyes were suddenly shown a group of Thenns. In the centre walked Mance, his wife and good sister, and Arthur.

Jon picked up the pace then and sprinted towards the middle of the company and found the very thing Uncle Benjen had shown him. Benjen himself was walking to the side, the black fur on his muzzle matted and sticky with wight's blood. Tormund leapt off the white wolf's back and pulled a young girl into a tight hug, tears streaming out of his eyes.

"Jon!" shouted Arthur, limping slightly on his left leg. He was still holding Dawn in one hand, the pale blade stained with black blood. Jon also noticed that his second sword was missing as well, just like Jon.

Jon transformed and ran over on two feet to his uncle, where the knight checked Jon over.

"I am fine," said Jon, "just some bruised ribs."

"I am glad," said Arthur truthfully.

"Arthur, Valyrian steel... it can kill White Walkers," exclaimed Jon. Mance and a couple other looked at Jon in surprise.

"It can?" said Arthur incredulously.

Jon nodded his head. "I killed one with Longclaw," he said, patting the pommel of said sword.

"It's true. I saw Snow kill it," said Tormund from behind them.

"And I was worried only Dawn could do it," said Arthur, shaking his head slightly.

"Excuse me?" said Jon, feeling confused.

"Your knight killed one with his pale sword," clarified Mance. "I saw it with my own eyes."

"But your sword is not Valyrian steel," said Jon.

"No, but the steel is as strong and even sharper than Valyrian steel," replied Arthur.

"So we have found another way to kill them," said Jon.

"That may be but Valyrian steel is incredibly rare. There aren't enough of them to fight what we just saw."

"There has to be another way," argued Jon. Fatigue was starting to creep up on him as the adrenaline left his body.

"We will get our dragonglass," promised Arthur. "The whole world depends on it."


	3. Chapter 3- Traitors Amongst Honour

_A/N- I decided to change Jon's heritage back to R+L=J because I realised that I could use it for the plot. It does not change what has already happened but it will come into play later on down the track._

 **Chapter 3- Traitors Amongst Honour**

The journey south was long and difficult. They had lost many at Hardhome, over twenty thousand gone in a single night. The only good fortune to come of it was that eighty thousand survived and the Others did not pursue them. For whatever reason that was, Jon could not say. They lost several leaders to the fighting: the Magnar, Karsi, Qhorin Half-hand and Loboda were just the ones Jon knew by name.

They lost another three thousand on the journey to the Wall, from the cold and starvation. Lone packs of wights would pick off any stragglers left behind, adding to the White Walker's number.

When they arrived at the Wall after almost a full moon's turn of traveling, they were met with the angry glares of the Night's Watch. Thankfully they let the host pass through the Wall unimpeded, and Jon was able to transform and tell his family that he was alive and well. Uncle Ned, Robb and Arya could sense the trouble lurking in Jon's mind, but he wasn't in the mood to tell them of the horrors he had seen over the Wall just yet.

He learned that Bran had fallen from the broken tower in Winterfell, and had lost the use of his legs in human form, but was able to walk fine as a wolf. Uncle Ned, Sansa and Arya had arrived in King's Landing and were well, but Robb was struggling with the responsibility as the new lord of Winterfell. Jon was grateful to hear that his family was alive and well, but privately, he sent Uncle Ned a message, asking him to become a wolf later in the night so they could talk without anyone eavesdropping.

Castle Black was dark when the white wolf walked slowly into the courtyard, flanked by the smaller black wolf.

 _Uncle Ned? Are you there?_ Jon called out.

He felt the presence of Eddard Stark drift in, his mind laced with worry over his nephew and younger brother.

 _Jon? Benjen? What is wrong? Earlier today you sounded frightened,_ the voice of Uncle Ned filtered through their minds. Jon could faintly smell sea salt and pollution from Uncle Ned's link.

 _I am afraid there is much more to it than that,_ said Uncle Benjen gravely.

 _What happened?_ asked Ned.

 _Old Nan's stories, the ones about the living dead and the Others, they're all real,_ said Jon.

Both Jon and Benjen could feel disbelief coming from Ned.

 _Impossible,_ said Ned.

 _Uncle, it is true. All of it. The White Walkers, giants, the dead coming back,_ insisted Jon, and he let the horrible memories of Hardhome come forward to show his uncle who dwelt in King's Landing. Jon showed him the wights jumping from the cliffs, getting back up and attacking, how they couldn't die conventionally, how Jon and the others threw the bodies into the fires to finish them off. He showed Ned the White Walkers standing on top of the jagged cliffs above the wildling settlement, commanding the dead silently. He showed him the White Walker he fought, how ordinary steel did not work against them, but Valyrian steel could when Jon showed hoe Longclaw stopped the Other's blade and how the Valyrian sword killed it.

Ned's consciousness drew back for a few moments, and for a second Jon feared that Ned would not come back, but he did.

 _By the gods, it is true!_ Uncle Ned exclaimed.

 _Unfortunately,_ said Uncle Benjen.

 _Uncle, you must warn King Robert about the dead marching towards us,_ urged Jon. He felt Ned's disagreement.

 _I cannot, the secret of the Stark's minds melding together as wolves is our most closely guarded secret,_ said Ned. _If I were to approach the court, Robert would ask where I obtained the information from._

 _Say you received a raven then,_ argued Jon.

 _They would ask for the letter and I would not have the proof._ Uncle Ned paused then. _Jon,_ he said, _you must return to King's Landing with Ser Arthur to tell us personally. If you could bring proof as well, it would help your case._

 _It is far too dangerous to bring a wight south of the Wall,_ said Uncle Benjen. _If it got loose, it would undoubtedly kill anyone and everyone it sees and we would be facing an infestation before the White Walkers even get here._

 _Seven hells,_ Uncle Ned swore. _Very well, bring Ser Arthur and some of the leaders of the Free Folk clans to King's Landing. We will discuss matters then._

oOoOoOo

The trip south to King's Landing took two moons to complete, and during that entire time Jon was on edge. After dealing with monsters, he could not sleep most nights as he was plagued with memories of Hardhome and the travel back to the Wall. Anything that moved in the shadows startled him, thinking that it was a wight hiding in the bushes.

Arthur had taken their training to a new level, and almost every waking moment was spent sparring. Jon's skills with wielding both one sword and two swords had improved dramatically, and the matches lasted much longer, though he was still yet to beat Arthur.

They did not stop at any castles in the lands they marched through. Arthur wanted to get to King's Landing as quickly as possible, but he was also worried that the lords would not welcome the two wildlings they had brought along, Mance and Tormund. They would be the representatives of the Free Folk, their King and his most trusted friend.

Jon's journey was made slightly easier by his cousins telling him about their days. Robb was adjusting well as a young lord, and Bran described to him dreams of a three-eyed raven following him. Arya's tales of the Red Keep were exciting. She told him how she had explored as much as she could and that she had found the old dragon skulls that used to decorate the throne room. Sadly, Arya had to tell him about Sansa as well, as the older girl still refused to become a wolf, despite knowing how to. In fact, Jon wasn't even sure if he remembered what Sansa's wolf form looked like.

At night, Arthur would regal Jon with tales of Lady Ashara, Jon's mother. He learned that his mother was a strong woman, with a sharp tongue and a fierce loyalty to those she cared about. When Jon asked why she jumped from that tower instead of taking care of him, Arthur's face saddened.

"Because she had lost so much during Robert's Rebellion, and feared that she was not fit enough to take care of you as a mother should," Arthur had said sadly, and Jon too felt sorrowful, then let the subject drop for the rest of the trip.

When they arrived at King's Landing, the horses and the men were exhausted beyond compare. The city guards let them in without complaint however at the sight of Arthur and his white cloak. The four men trotted through the great city, and he glanced behind himself to see Mance and Tormund looking around the city in wonder. Both men had never seen such a large settlement in their lives before, and they looked like children the way their eyes sparkled.

They were allowed into the Red Keep, where they were greeted by Uncle Ned and Arya, along with some of Uncle Ned's Northern guards. Jon leapt off his horse and opened his arms out for Arya to run into, and he swept her up into a tight embrace.

When he let go of Arya, Jon saw Arthur speaking with Uncle Ned quietly, the latter nodding his head grimly.

"Before we go inside," Arthur began, drawing the attentions of all in the courtyard, "I would like to do something." He drew Dawn from its sheath. "Jon Snow, step forward."

Jon did so hesitantly, not sure of what was going on.

"Kneel," ordered Arthur. Jon complied and dropped down on one knee, slowly realising what was about to happen.

"Jon Snow, for your efforts in protecting the Seven Kingdoms and serving the realm I hereby knight you," declared Arthur, placing Dawn on one of Jon's shoulders before raising it and tapping his other shoulder. "Arise, Ser Jon the White Wolf."

Jon stood up, feeling stunned at just being knighted by the Sword in the morning of all people. He looked over to see Arya and Uncle Ned looking at him proudly and he couldn't help but smile.

He had made his way in the world.

"Get going, Ser Jon," laughed Arthur, sheathing Dawn. "You'll need to freshen yourself up before we treat with the King. He will be expecting us."

oOoOoOo

In an instant, Jon's happy mood was soured.

Laughing echoed throughout the throne room after he and Arthur had finished their report on what happened Beyond the Wall. Jon could feel his cheeks and ears burning up with embarrassment and anger, and his hand twitched slightly near the hilt of Longclaw. Arthur's face remained impassive, giving away no emotion, though Jon could see his hands clenching into fists.

Uncle Ned, Arya and Myrcella were the only ones not laughing at the two knights, a look of pity on their faces as well. For some reason that irked Jon even more than the laughter, and he had to force the wolf back down before he transformed in front of the court and did something stupid.

"White Walkers? The dead back to life? You must be jesting Arthur surely!" bellowed King Robert as he laughed from the Iron Throne.

"I know what I saw and fought, your grace," said Arthur through gritted teeth. "The dead are coming, and Winter comes with it."

"Perhaps the cold air muddled your brains Ser," said Cersei in that silky voice of hers that oozed mocking.

"I can assure you my Queen, I am perfectly fine. But I stand by what I said," retorted Arthur.

"I can attest to it as well, your graces," said Jon, stepping forward with a bow. "We know their weaknesses, but it will not do any good if he do not not have enough men manning the Wall."

"You do not get to speak here, bastard," hissed Cersei angrily, her green eyes flashing dangerously.

A few months ago, Jon would have cowered at the Queen's ferocity, but after seeing what he had seen, not much could possibly scare him anymore.

"Enough Cersei," said Robert, waving his wife away. "What would you have us do, Ser Jon?"

Jon spared a look at Arthur. At the older knight's silent encouragement, Jon spoke.

"Have your brother Stannis mine the dragonglass underneath Dragonstone. Send it to every available blacksmith across the realm and fashion them into weapons we could use against the Others. Daggers, swords, arrowheads, axes, anything we could use against them.

"Cut down forests to create enough fires to burn the wights. Find as much Valyrian steel as well, it is another of the very few things that can kill the White Walkers. Have the maesters in Oldtown search through every scroll in the Citadel to find out how to make Valyrian steel weapons. The whole realm is to unite if we are to stop the Long night from coming!"

More laughter filled the hall, but this time Robert did not join in. Instead he looked between Jon and Arthur, as if he was searching them for any sign of trickery.

"You truly believe this, don't you?" he asked quietly once the laughter died down.

"Your grace, we know it," said Arthur. "I have brought two of the Free Folk's leaders, one of which is their king, Mance Rayder."

The King's face contorted in rage at the mention of two wildlings in his keep, especially one who was a self-styled king.

"You _dare_ bring savages into my city?!" roared Robert.

"Your grace they are not here to fight. They merely seek your aid against our true enemy," soothed Arthur.

"They are wild beasts who need to be put down," spat Cersei.

"Your grace, perhaps it would be best to at least hear them out," advised Uncle Ned.

Robert stopped his tirade and considered Ned's words.

 _Bless you, Uncle Ned,_ thought Jon.

Robert sighed. "Fine. Bring the wildlings in," he ordered.

The throne room's great doors opened up, and in walked Mance and Tormund. Their faces and stances remained stoic as they walked to the front of the hall, and to everyone except for the Starks and Arthur's shock and outrage, they did not kneel.

"You would dare not kneel before the King?" demanded Robert.

"We know no King in the South," stated Mance. "The Free Folk are just that: free."

"And yet you are their proclaimed King," observed Robert.

"I was chosen by my people to lead. I did not conquer a realm or force its people to kneel before me," said Mance bluntly, and Jon winced.

"I thought we were here to fucking talk about fighting the White Walkers, not compare the sizes of our cocks," proclaimed Tormund in an annoyed tone.

Several of the ladies in the hall gasped, including Sansa, while the guards hands automatically reached for their swords.

To everyone's surprise, Robert laughed.

"I like this man," boomed Robert happily. "What is your name?"

"Tormund Giantsbane," said Tormund gruffly.

"Giantsbane eh? An impressive title no doubt," said Robert. "Why have you come to King's Landing?"

"To ask permission to live in your lands and to fight with you when the Others come," answered Mance.

"And that is all?" asked Robert.

"Well, I'm sure the men wouldn't mind getting to know the ladies of the South," joked Mance, earning laughs from King Robert, and even a rare smile from Uncle Ned.

There was a reason why a hundred thousand wildlings were willing to follow Mance. He was excellent with words, capable of making a band of bloodthirsty wildlings happy to share a drink with their most hated enemies. He knew how to work a crowd with his charismatic attitude and had a genuine love for his people.

"You all have given me much to think on," said Robert thoughtfully. "Until then, you are welcome in my home as guests of the King!'

"Husband, surely you do not believe the words of..." began Cersei.

"I will hear no more my Queen," snapped Robert. And that was the end of that.

Arthur led Mance and Tormund to their guest chambers, while Uncle Ned walked over to Jon.

"You did well," said Uncle Ned proudly. "You have given the King thought, which is saying a lot because nothing seems to reach Robert anymore."

"Thank you Uncle," said Jon.

Uncle Ned smiled, then told Jon to follow him. On their way out of the throne room, Ned beckoned Sansa over to follow as well, and Jon's uncle led them out of the keep and into the gardens.

"Do you remember what I told you when I first proposed the idea of becoming Ser Arthur's squire, Jon?" Ned asked when they were well inside the gardens.

Jon frowned for a moment, thinking back to that night.

"Oh! Of course!" exclaimed Jon, remembering their agreement. He turned around to face Sansa, who had a confused look on her face, and he drew Longclaw and held it up to Sansa in offering, kneeling before the eldest Stark girl.

"I offer my services Lady Sansa. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New," he said, swearing the oath of the sworn shield.

Sansa looked astonished at Jon's offering, and at Uncle Ned's urging, she cleared her throat. "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and..." Sansa trailed off then, looking to her father for help.

"And meat and mead at my table," whispered Uncle Ned.

"And meat and mead at my table," Sansa repeated. "And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise."

Jon did as he was bid and went to sheath Longclaw, but Sansa stopped him. "Is that Valyrian steel?" she asked.

"It is, my lady," confirmed Jon.

"Where did you get such a weapon?" asked Sansa, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch gave it to me when I saved his life from a wight," explained Jon, and Sansa laughed at him. He frowned, but said nothing.

"Oh Father, surely you do not believe this tale?" said Sansa incredulously, but her grin faded at the grim look on Uncle Ned's face. "Father?"

"I believe your cousin," said Uncle Ned.

"Why? Have you seen something?" asked Sansa, her voice sounding worried now.

"I have seen both Jon and your Uncle Benjen's memories. It is nothing like I have ever seen before. It is worse than the Trident," said Uncle Ned, and Jon saw the slight shudder of his uncle's shoulders.

Sansa looked confused for a moment, but comprehension dawned on her features. "The wolf mind," she said, more to herself than them.

Uncle Ned nodded his head. "Your cousin has sworn to be your shield. You will not go anywhere without him accompanying you, you will give your cousin the respect he deserves, as he is now a knight of the realm. You will also listen to his counsel," he instructed to his daughter.

"Yes Father," said Sansa, curtseying to the both of them.

"I must speak to Jon privately," Uncle Ned said then and pulled Jon away from Sansa. "Keep an eye on her, especially when she is around Prince Joffrey," he warned.

"Uncle?" Jon asked nervously.

"Something is wrong with that boy. I can smell the rot coming off him even as a man," iterated Uncle Ned. "Surely you can smell it as well?"

Jon thought back to the conversation he had with Arthur when the royal party had visited Winterfell, and the sparring match he had against Joffrey. He nodded his head towards his uncle. "What do you plan to do about it?" asked Jon.

"I am hoping to break the betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey, but it will take some time," answered Ned.

"Uncle, you cannot just break a betrothal between your daughter and the _king's_ son," hissed Jon.

"I know that. But Robert will understand. He has to."

oOoOoOo

Jon stayed by Sansa's side dutifully for almost three months, silent and obedient. He followed her everywhere; through the gardens, the keep, standing watch outside her bed chambers and even during feasts. Oh, there were so many feasts Jon could now understand exactly _why_ King Robert was so large around the middle.

Jon liked to think that his relationship with Sansa had improved, what with being forced to spend time together almost every waking hour, but then the subtle reminders would feel like a punch in the gut. If one of her handmaidens mentioned Jon's comeliness or something ridiculous like that, Sansa would remind them that he was a bastard.

Jon always felt tense when Prince Joffrey and Sansa would spend time together. The foul scent wafting off the crown prince alway made Jon feel on edge, and he wondered how Sansa could even stand to be near Joffrey. He certainly knew Arya and Uncle Ned avoided him as often as they could.

When Jon wasn't shadowing Sansa, he was training with Arthur. His uncle was adamant that Jon become the best fighter he could possibly be, and he was reaping the rewards. His body had become hard and lean, the muscles rippled with sinew hard as rock. The scar the White Walker had left above Jon's right eye added to the hard, cold look that reminded many people of Eddard Stark. He had become much stronger physically as well, and he could hold Uncle Ned's greatsword Ice easily with one hand, and swing it as gracefully as if he were wielding Longclaw.

His skill was supposedly something that would be written in songs for years to come, and when Arthur could not train with Jon, he sparred with the other Kingsguard knights, mainly Ser Barristan and Jaime Lannister. Ser Barristan was still as skilled as the tales talk about, despite his old age. He was almost exactly like Arthur in terms of chivalry and valour, though personally Jon thought Ser Barristan was that little bit better than Arthur.

Ser Jaime, on the other hand, was another story. He was arrogant and quick-witted, and knew exactly what to say to get Jon's blood boiling. They were well matched, though Ser Jaime was a little better, and he used his sharp words to taunt Jon into making a mistake in order to get the upper hand often.

Sers Meryn Trant and Boros Blount were the complete opposites of the other three legendary Kingsguard. Ser Boros was a coward, even in the training yard and a pathetic fighter. Jon had bested him more times than he could bother counting. Ser Meryn, while not a bad fighter, still wasn't up to the standard of a proper Kingsguard, and he was a spiteful man full of malice. Neither men had bested Jon in the training yard.

He spent time with Myrcella and Tommen as well (bless their sweet souls). They showed him around much of the Red Keep, including secret passages and ways to sneak into the kitchens undetected. Their meetings were keep under wraps, however, as the Queen was adamant that her children remain 'untainted' by a bastard of the North.

Jon saw little of Uncle Ned during those three months, having spent much of his time acting as Hand to the King, but he was also in the city a lot, and judging by the fleeting memories his uncle failed to keep hidden, Jon guessed that he was searching for something.

Uncle Ned became even more reclusive when Robert was mortally wounded while on a hunt, and had apparently given up his title as Hand when Prince Joffrey was crowned. Jon had known that Uncle Ned planned on heading back North to Winterfell, but for some reason he had decided to stay.

Jon had been teaching Arya how to wield a sword when a squire came bustling into their private rooms, sweating and a look of shock in his eyes.

"What is it?" asked Jon, lowering his sword just as Arya did the same.

"The Lord Hand, he- he's been injured," stammered the squire.

Jon's face automatically pulled into a scowl. "What happened?" he growled.

"He was in Flea Bottom with some of his guards when the Kingslayer attacked him with Lannister men. Your uncle was wounded in the fighting," answered the squire.

"Where is he?" demanded Jon.

"He is in his chambers right now but-" the squire did not get to finish for Jon had grabbed Arya's hand and walked out of the room back to the Tower of the Hand.

Arya practically barged into her father's bedchambers, where they found Uncle Ned grimacing as he lay on the bed. A maester was treating to his leg, where Jon saw bloodstained bandages wrapped around it.

"What happened?" demanded Arya fiercely.

"I was looking for something when the Lannisters apprehended me," said Uncle Ned vaguely.

"What happened to the guards?" asked Jon.

"Murdered," said Ned sadly.

"What about Jory?" said Arya. Jory Cassel had always been a good friend of the Starks. Jon remembered him being particularly nice to Jon when he was a young boy, having just learned that he was a bastard.

"I'm sorry Arya..." Ned said quietly, the sorrow clear in his voice.

"He's dead?!" shouted Arya angrily. "I'll kill them! I'll kill all those Lannister bastards!"

"Arya enough! That talk will get you killed," said Jon, raising his voice slightly to stop Arya's tirade. Thank goodness she stopped, but she was looking at Jon like he had betrayed her.

Uncle Ned grunted in pain.

"Jon, a word please," said Uncle Ned and he moved to stand up.

"My lord! I insist you sit back down this instant!" protested the maester.

"Leave us," commanded Uncle Ned. The maester grumbled, but acquiesced and left hastily. "You too Arya," added Ned when Arya did not move.

"But Father," complained Arya.

" _Now,_ " said Uncle Ned in a tone that left no room for argument.

Arya huffed and stormed out, leaving Jon alone with his wounded uncle. Uncle Ned took a deep breath and slowly transformed, the man replaced by a dark-brown direwolf. Ned limped pathetically and Jon transformed as well. With two enormous wolves in one bedchamber, there was not much room to move around, but Jon was able to get around to his uncle's injured leg and began licking the wound.

 _Thank you Jon,_ said Ned gratefully.

Jon could feel the pain leaving Ned's mind as Jon's saliva worked into the hideous wound.

 _You wanted to speak?_ asked Jon.

 _Yes. I have discovered something horrible about the Queen's children,_ confessed Ned. _They are not the children of Robert Baratheon._

Jon felt like he had been kicked in the gut. _Not his children?_ he asked incredulously.

 _They are bastards,_ clarified Ned. _the products of incest. Ser Jaime is their father._

 _No. It cannot be,_ denied Jon.

 _I am afraid so. Now that the Queen knows I know, I fear for the safety of you and my daughters._

 _What do you want me to do about it?_

Ned said nothing for a bit as he stood up shakily on all fours. _I need you to protect your cousins from anyone who would try to harm them. I plan on confronting the new king and arrest Cersei for charges of incest tomorrow._

 _Let me come with you,_ pleaded Jon. _I could help you._

 _No,_ said Ned firmly. _You will protect Sansa. I have already asked Arya's sword master to protect her, but Sansa cannot know what I am about to do. If something goes wrong tomorrow, you and my children need to remain ignorant. It will be the only way you will be spared._

 _But Uncle..._

 _That is an order from your lord, Jon,_ commanded Ned, his Alpha voice creeping in and Jon felt the tug to obey.

Of course, that rebellious part of Jon that he had spent months trying to tame wanted to come forward and challenge his uncle, but Jon was able to rein it in and he swore to protect Sansa.

 _Thank you Jon. Now, I must make preparations,_ said Ned tiredly and he reverted back into a man.

Jon did the same and he opened the door to let Arya back inside, and he left the Tower of the Hand to find Sansa, his mind wracked with guilt.

oOoOoOo

"Ser Ilyn Payne, bring me his head!" declared Joffrey.

Beside Jon, Sansa screamed and she was held back by one of the Kingsguard. Jon too reached for his sword in blind rage, but before he could draw Longclaw and cut down the king's headsman, Arthur and Ser Barristan restrain him.

"Let me go! Let me go you fuckers!" bellowed Jon.

"Jon, you cannot do anything!" whispered Arthur fiercely in the young man's ear, holding him closely.

"Let me go!" Jon continued roaring, completely ignoring his uncle's words as he struggled to save the man who was practically his father.

"Please! Joffrey, let him go!" pleaded Sansa, her voice rising higher in pitch.

Jon and Sansa were both forced to watch as Ilyn Payne drew Ice from its sheath. Jon quickly glanced at the crowd and saw both Mance and Tormund blending in. They had fled the Red Keep after Joffrey had ordered them arrested for being wildlings, despite King Robert's like for the two men. Jon gave them a pleading look, but Mance shook his head sadly and disappeared, Tormund following him.

"Jon! Don't do this or the king will take your's and Sansa's head as well," pleaded Arthur.

"He's my uncle! I have to save him!" shouted Jon.

"No! Don't do this!" shrieked Sansa.

Uncle Ned spared Jon and Sansa a look and gave them a small, comforting smile. His gaze then moved over past Jon's shoulder and he gave a nod to Arthur. Jon didn't see Arthur's reaction, and neither did he care.

Ilyn Payne gave Ice a practice swing in front of Uncle Ned's face, then he raised it high. Sansa's screaming became more shrill and Jon struggled even more against the strength of Arthur and Ser Barristan. Uncle Ned bowed his head and whispered something just as Ice came baring down against his neck.

For the first time in his life, Jon looked away.

Sansa let out one more scream before she fainted, and Arthur and Ser Barristan let go of Jon's arms so he could rush to the aid of his cousin. He crouched down and cradled Sansa's head close to his chest, and he let the tears fall from his eyes down onto her pale cheeks.

Somewhere not far away, a wolf howled in despair. Jon could feel it too as Uncle Ned's life was taken. It was as if a part of his soul had been ripped apart, lost forever. No more would Jon feel the soothing presence of his favourite uncle in his wolf mind, the man who was more of a father to Jon than an uncle. In his heart, Jon could feel the anguish of the other Starks as they too felt the loss of a member of their pack.

He did not look at the headless body of his beloved uncle as he gathered the unconscious Sansa in his arms and carried her gently back to the Red Keep, accompanied by Arthur. Jon opened the door to Sansa's bedchambers and lay her in her bed gently. She looked almost peaceful in her bed, reminding Jon of the days when they were small children and Sansa would have a nightmare and come into Jon's bed for comfort.

Jon brushed a loose strand of fiery hair from Sansa's face and tucked it behind her air, but he stiffened when he smelt Arthur's scent still at the doorway.

"I am sorry for your uncle," whispered Arthur. "He was a good man."

"Get out," hissed Jon, not taking his eyes off Sansa.

"Jon I-"

"Get out now," snapped Jon. "Get out of here before I kill you myself."

When Arthur did not move, Jon finally turned around, his eyes blazing with fury. "GET OUT! GET OUT NOW!" he roared just as he transformed into his enormous direwolf form.

Arthur automatically took a step back as the massive white wolf drew himself to his full height, the tips of his ears brushing against the ceiling. The wolf snarled viciously at his Dornish uncle, and only then did Arthur leave them be.

Unfortunately, the confrontation had woken up Sansa and Jon turned around to find her looking at him with tear-streaked eyes.

"Oh Jon," she cried, and Jon whimpered before crouching down on his belly so that his huge white head was level with Sansa's.

"Father, he's gone. It's all my fault," she said, burying her face in her hands.

Jon had no idea what to do to comfort her, so he rested his head on her lap and whined pitifully. Wolves could not cry, but the noise he was making was close enough. Sansa's hands dropped down and began stroking the fur on the back of his head and neck,

"I was such a stupid girl with stupid dreams of a stupid world," continued Sansa, and Jon could feel her tears dripping into his fur.

Jon let out a comforting whine and nestled closer to her body, the both of them drawing comfort from each other's company. He felt the presences of Robb, Arya and Bran drift in, and the pain he felt over the loss of Lord Stark quadrupled.

 _Father! No!_

 _Who did this?!_

 _FATHER!_

The voices were disorienting and confusing, and the anguish and rage built up amongst the four wolves as the other three were free to view Jon's memories of what happened.

 _MONSTER!_ bellowed Robb through their link when the memory of Ilyn Payne swinging the sword towards Uncle Ned's neck showed before Jon had looked away.

 _I'm coming back,_ growled Arya, and Jon could see through his cousin's eyes, running through a dark forest as the walls surrounding King's Landing materialized.

 _No! Do not come back! They will kill you!_ shouted Jon, and he bared his fangs instinctively.

"Jon? What is wrong? Are my brothers and sister with you?" asked Sansa, worry in her voice.

Jon tilted his head up and gave her a look which she instantly understood. "let me speak to them," she told him.

Jon nodded, and he opened his mind fully so that his cousins could see and hear her.

 _Oh, Sansa,_ cried Bran at the sight of Sansa through Jon's eyes.

 _I'll fucking tear them apart!_ snarled Arya, though she did not charge into King's Landing, instead prowling through the tree lines.

"Robb, Arya, Bran. I am so sorry. I failed you all," said Sansa.

 _No, sweetling,_ said Robb softly.

"I am fine, unharmed at least and I have Jon," continued Sansa, unaware of her siblings' assurances. "I will be strong for you, until you come to rescue us Robb. Fight for us. Avenge the Starks. I will be fine with Jon. We will take care of each other."

 _You brave girl,_ said Bran with a wisdom unbecoming of a twelve year old boy.

"How is Mother? Does she know? How is she faring? Tell her I love her. I love you all too," finished Sansa, and Jon closed his mind as she lay back down on the bed, Jon's head still resting on her thighs.

 _Robb, I swear by the Old Gods and the New that I will protect her with my life,_ swore Jon.

 _I know cousin, I know you will,_ said Robb solemnly.

 _Arya, run back to Winterfell. Sansa and I will be fine here,_ continued Jon.

 _But-_

 _No buts. You get home to safety as fast as you can otherwise the Lannisters will kill you,_ ordered Jon, his voice dead serious as it rang through the other wolves' heads.

 _I am calling my bannermen,_ said Robb. _The Lannisters will pay for what they did to our family._

 _The Starks endure,_ quipped Bran.

 _Winter is coming,_ added Arya, reciting the words of House Stark.

 _Winter is indeed coming, and with it the lions shall freeze,_ swore Robb.

oOoOoOo

The morning after the day of Ned Stark's execution found Jon and Sansa breaking their fast together in utter silence. The air was heavy with grief, and neither ate very much, instead picking at their food disinterestedly.

A knock on the door came then, followed by the door opening to reveal Ser Meryn, clad in his white cloak and golden armour.

"The King demands your presence, Ser and my lady," declared Meryn, and Jon caught the way the Kingsguard had sneered Jon's title.

Ser Meryn led the way, with Sansa walking in the middle and Jon trailing closely behind as a sworn shield would. The older knight took them all the way out to the city gates, where Joffrey was waiting for them.

The golden-haired king had a malicious smile on his face as he waved them over excitedly.

"Come, come! I have something I would like you to see," said Joffrey gleefully.

Jon had a sickening feeling that he knew what it was that Joffrey wanted to show them. It was confirmed when Joffrey led he and Sansa out to a balcony, where the heads of criminals were displayed on the tips of spikes. In the very middle stood the heads of Uncle Ned and Septa Mordane, their heads fresh enough that blood still dripped down the spikes, staining the pointed wooden beams crimson.

Jon looked over at Sansa, and was glad when he saw that her face showed no emotion. That seemed to disappoint Joffrey because he frowned.

"Well? What do you think?" he snapped, like the spoilt brat he was.

"I have nothing to say, your grace," answered Sansa coolly.

Joffrey's frown deepened. "I have sent a raven to your brother demanding that he swear fealty to me, the one true king of Westeros. His armies will retreat back to their homes and your brother come to King's Landing where he will answer for his crimes against the crown," informed Joffrey.

"Who knows," continued Joffrey haughtily. "Perhaps I shall gift you his head?"

"Or maybe he'll give me yours," spat Sansa, glaring at Joffrey.

Jon sucked in a breath. He did not want Sansa to face the cruelty of the new king. Joffrey's face contorted in rage.

"Ser Meryn," hissed Joffrey stepped forward, and before Jon realised what was going on, Meryn had stepped forward and slapped Sansa across the face.

Sansa's face whipped to the side, and Jon could smell the blood that came from her split lip. Without thinking, Jon unsheathed Longclaw and yanked Meryn by his white cloak, whipping the Kingsguard around then slammed him to the wall. Before Meryn could react the tip of Longclaw's blade was resting gently against his neck, and Jon's eyes blazed with a cold fire.

"You _dare?!"_ snarled Jon.

Joffrey squealed and called for help. Instantly a dozen guards came bustling through the door and pointed their spears at Jon's back, but he did not react, his eyes focussed on the fearful face and whimpering of Ser Meryn.

Jon was tempted to run Longclaw through the older knight's throat, then proceed to kill Joffrey and all the guards and escape King's Landing with Sansa. He probably could have killed them all as well, being as well trained as he was, not to mention having the ability to turn into a wolf that was taller and far more muscular than a horse.

"Jon! Please! Do not do it! They will kill you as well!" Sansa's voice drifted towards Jon, lifting the fog of rage from his mind. He turned his head to see Sansa looking at him with such frightening worry and fear that his heart clenched.

He dropped Longclaw from Ser Meryn's throat and let go of the man, then sheathed the sword and turned back to face Joffrey. The smarmy king was watching him gleefully, but Jon could see the underlying fear in his eyes. _Good, perhaps then you will reconsider the next time you order your men to strike my lady._

"Now that is the reaction I wanted to see!" exclaimed Joffrey, then he laughed uneasily.

"Apologies, your grace. But I am sworn to protect Lady Sansa from harm, and I had to uphold my vows," said Jon, bowing slightly to the king.

"Of course, of course," said Joffrey with mock nonchalance. "But, of course, you did strike a Kingsguard, and I think it fitting for the debt be repaid."

Meryn lashed out then and punched Jon hard in the gut, buckling the young knight and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. Sansa gasped in horror while Joffrey cackled evilly. A gloved hand grabbed Jon's dark curls and lifted his head, then a fist slammed into his cheek, and Jon fell to the ground.

Meryn leant down then until his face was centimetres from Jon's ear. "Do that to me again and I'll kill you," he threatened.

"Too bad you've never beaten me in a fight. I might actually be scared if you did," retorted Jon, his voice distorted by the blood that was filling his mouth.

Jon paid for that by a hard kick into his gut, and Jon spat out more blood that drizzled into his closely cropped beard.

"What a delight to see a bastard knight where he belongs," sneered Joffrey as Meryn straightened up. "Come, let us return back to the Keep."

Sansa crouched down and helped Jon up on his feet, pulling his arm over his shoulder to support him. They were quiet the whole way back to the Red Keep, where they were dropped off in Sansa's chambers. Sansa gently pushed Jon into one of the armchairs and went over to a small chest and pulled out some white cloth. She returned to Jon and knelt in front of him, then gently pressed the cloth to Jon's cheek.

"We cannot be so reckless," said Sansa, her Tully blue eyes boring into his Stark grey ones. "To act so will see us punished, or worse."

"I had to do something, my lady," argued Jon. "I would have failed my vows if I stood by and let Ser Meryn hurt you."

"It does not matter Jon!" said Sansa in exasperation. "We must be careful around here.

"We need to take care of each other. Just ourselves, no one else," she said gently, dabbing at his bruised and bloodied face carefully.

"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," agreed Jon.

oOoOoOo

"Jon, can we talk?"

Jon ignored Arthur's voice as he viciously took his anger out on another man-at-arms. Four others lay in the dirt of the Red Keep's training yard, groaning and rolling around as welts sprang up over their faces and bodies.

"There is nothing to talk about," growled Jon as his practice sword slammed into the side of the poor soldier's head, knocking him out instantly.

He had barely broken a sweat in sparring with a five soldiers and his frustration was mounting, so he walked over to a wooden dummy and began hacking away at it, not caring about using what he had been taught. Arthur followed Jon over with a look of worry on his face. Jon spotted Ser Barristan standing not far off with the same look on his face as well. In the months since Jon had arrived at King's Landing and before the death of Uncle Ned, he had developed a good relationship with the other legendary knight, but now that friendship was tainted.

"Jon, please hear me out..." started Arthur.

"Ser Jon," spat Jon, finally turning around to face his uncle.

"Excuse me?" said Arthur in surprise.

"You will address me as _Ser_ Jon," reiterated Jon spitefully. "You have lost the right to address me informally."

"Jon- Ser Jon, I am sorry about your uncle," continued Arthur sorrowfully. "He truly was a good man. Much better than your father-"

"Enough!" yelled Jon. He pointed his blunted sword at Arthur's face threateningly, though Arthur did not react. "You may have hated my father, but I know he would not have hesitated to help his younger brother. Which is more than I can say for you."

"I am a sworn Kingsguard of the realm, I could not abandon my duty and my vows," stated Arthur.

Jon snorted. "If what you say about my mother is true, then she would be very ashamed of you," he sneered.

 _Smack!_ Jon did not see the fist coming until it was too late, and Jon staggered at the blow Arthur had given him. He looked at his uncle in shock, and saw his eyes blazing with violet fury.

"You did not know your mother, I did. She would be ashamed of _you_ for being so reckless!" roared Arthur. "What would have happened if I or Ser Barristan had let you go, hm? There would be two more heads sticking on the spikes outside of the city! I saved your life, and I want to help you, truly, I do. But if you won't let me there is nothing I can do for you or your cousin!"

Jon rubbed his cheek and spat out a wad of blood mixed with saliva. "Stay away from me," he growled and turned away back to his dummy, but not before glimpsing the hurt look on Arthur's face.

He heard footsteps moving away from him, and instantly regretted the harsh words he had blurted out, but his anger took over and he hacked away at the dummy. The sword struck the wood so hard that chips flew off everywhere, but for Jon, it wasn't enough. He imagined that the dummy was Joffrey and he snapped.

He threw his sword aside with a snarl and transformed into the white wolf. His massive jaws clamped around the dummy's torso and he tore it right out of the ground, then ripped the thing to pieces until it was nothing but splinted pieces of wood, and even then Jon kept going until he was breathing deeply, the sound rumbling through the training yard. People evacuated the training yard while Jon disposed of the dummy, fearing for their lives.

When Jon settled down, he felt tired and empty. He turned back into a man and sunk to his knees, unable to let the sobs from escaping, and he cried alone in the training yard, alone with his grief.

He was startled when a small, soft hand touched his shoulder gently and Jon leapt up to his feet, but he relaxed when he saw Myrcella looking at him sadly. Behind her stood Ser Barristan, who had returned, and Jon's anger instantly rose, but he paused when Myrcella's hand pressed against his chest.

"Jon," she said softly, her head craning up to look him in the eyes.

Before Jon could say anything, the golden-haired princess pulled him into a tight hug. Jon tensed, and Jon saw Barristan's hand rest against the pommel of his sword, but eventually Jon relaxed and wrapped his arms around Myrcella's small waist. Silent tears dropped down his cheeks as Myrcella whispered words of comfort in his ear, assuring him that everything would be fine.

Eventually Myrcella let go and she smiled warmly at him. Jon couldn't help but let a small smile fall on his face as well, and Myrcella leaned upwards and kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

"If you or Lady Sansa need anything, come to me," said Myrcella as Jon felt his face burn up.

"I- I will, your grace," stammered Jon, bowing slightly at the princess.

Myrcella nodded and walked back to Ser Barristan, and the old knight gave Jon a pitying look before the two left the training yard, once again leaving Jon by himself.

 _A/N- Anyone see the new GoT season 7 trailer? Fuck that looks good._

 _Also I reckon if Robert and Tormund did meet they'd be best buds._


	4. Chapter 4- Torture

_A/N- This one has a short Sansa POV at the end, I hope you enjoy it._

 **Chapter 4- Torture**

Jon stood guard just outside of the gazebo while Sansa had lunch in the company of Myrcella and her ladies in the gardens.

The summer heat was bearing down on Jon, and in his Northern style leathers, it was getting to him. He had tied all of his hair except for the ones on the nape of his neck back to keep it from sticking to his forehead and eyes, but his small clothes had been entirely soaked in sweat.

It had been almost a moon's turn since Ned Stark's death, and a semblance of normality had returned to King's Landing. Except, of course for the rift between Jon and Arthur. The young knight had refused to speak to his uncle the entire time, despite Arthur's persistence to mend their broken bond. They no longer trained together and Jon would never even spare the man a look if they walked past each other in the halls or were in the same room together.

Then of course, was the whisperings in court. It was obvious that Jon and Sansa were considered traitors by the same people who had offered kind words and courtesies when they had first come to King's Landing, from the glares and whispered words behind hands. Jon suffered it far less than Sansa though, as he was Arthur Dayne's nephew, and nobody wanted to invoke the wrath of the Sword in the Morning.

Sansa, on the other hand, was fair game apparently. Wherever she walked, there were whispers of "traitor," and "whore". Not many people knew that Jon could hear them, so they were often surprised when he would glare at them with all the hate he could muster into one look. At least they shut up when Jon was present with Sansa.

Jon tuned back into the conversation Myrcella was having with Sansa, describing how Tommen had found a sick kitchen cat and nursed it back to health. Jon noticed the small smile on Sansa's lips, and Jon's heart leapt. It was her first genuine smile in over a month, and Jon sent the gods a silent prayer in thanks for dear Myrcella.

Jon himself hadn't smiled once since his argument with Arthur, not even a false smile, but he felt his lips quirk up at the sight of Sansa sitting there chatting away peacefully.

Suddenly Jon felt something pull in the back of his mind, and he knew that one of his cousins was signaling for him.

"Excuse me, my ladies, but I must ask the princess's permission to stretch my legs. All four of them," he said, bowing lowly to the ladies under the gazebo.

Sansa frowned slightly at him, but she understood his meaning and nodded slightly. Myrcella looked pleased and said, "Of course Ser Jon! Do not go too far though, my ladies are quite curious to see your wolf!"

Judging by the looks of the other women, they were definitely not curious. With another bow, Jon stepped out into the sun and morphed into the red-eyed white wolf right in front of them. Several of the ladies gasped in horror, while Myrcella clapped happily and Sansa merely smiled.

Jon shook his fur out and yawned, the sound more like a growl than a yawn, and he lay down on his stomach. He ignored the pointed whispers coming his way and called out in his mind.

 _Jon, we did it!_ said Robb excitedly. _The North has won its first victory over the Lannisters!_

 _Congratulations brother,_ said Jon.

 _I just wanted to you and Sansa to know before you are informed by someone else,_ said Robb. _Where is Sansa, by the way?_

Jon opened his mind so that Robb could see Sansa and Myrcella through his eyes.

 _Gods, she looks happy,_ whispered Robb, or as close to whisper as he could be seeing as there was no rising or falling in volume when speaking telepathically.

 _It is the first time she has smiled in a long time,_ informed Jon.

 _And what about you? Have you smiled since then?_

Jon sighed, which was echoed by his wolf and attracting the attentions of the ladies again. _I don't think I can,_ he confessed. _It is almost impossible to find true happiness here, but I am glad that Sansa had found some._

 _Perhaps you should try to find it as well,_ suggested Robb, and Jon could almost see the smirk on the young king's face. _Judging by your wandering thoughts, I am sure Princess Myrcella would be happy to oblige._

 _Robb!_

 _I jest brother,_ soothed Robb, though Jon could still hear the laughter in his voice.

Jon huffed and lay his head down on his front paws. His ears swivelled on the top of his head, searching for any sound out of the ordinary. The ladies were talking about Jon's fur colour.

"But why is his fur white when his hair is so dark?" asked lady sitting closest to Sansa.

"My father always used to say that the fur and eye colour of the wolf represents the person's true character," answered Sansa, sounding unsure of herself.

"So the white fur and red eyes means..." said Myrcella slowly, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"I am not sure," confessed Sansa, "but if you asked me I would say that the fur is a testament of Ser Jon's heart. He is a pure and honorable man, one willing to sacrifice his own life in the service of the good."

"And the eyes?" pressed Myrcella.

"It shows the warrior he is. A man with a savage ferocity in battle behind the kindness," said Sansa quietly, and Jon was sure it was the nicest thing she had ever said about him. "He is an extremely powerful wolf. I was there when Jon first transformed. he was the largest wolf I had ever seen, larger than even father was. Jon went out of control for a little while, and it took Robb, Arya and my father together to bring him down."

"It took three other direwolves to defeat your cousin?" gasped a young maid, her hands going up to cover her mouth.

Sansa nodded. "Jon is a true direwolf."

"And what about you, Lady Sansa?" asked another lady. "What does your wolf look like?"

Jon too turned his head to stare at Sansa curiously, and she blushed at the attention.

"I have dark red fur and a white underbelly with my normal eyes," described Sansa.

Jon did not find it difficult to imagine Sansa as a red wolf, her Tully blue eyes glowing in the night.

Jon's attention was diverted when heard hard footsteps pounding on the pathway not far from them, and the jingling of scale armour, so he missed what Sansa said next.

His head perked up and he could smell the bitter scent of Ser Boros before the man walked around the corner, his helm tucked under his armpit. Jon transformed back into a man, attracting the attention of the ladies, who then spotted the Kingsguard.

"His grace, King Joffrey requests and audience with Lady Sansa and Ser Jon," announced Ser Boros.

Jon had a feeling he knew what they were being summoned for. He nodded his head and extended his arm for Sansa to take, which she did, and followed Ser Boros into the Keep and the throne room.

When they arrived the court was was full, and everyone turned their attentions to the new arrivals. Arthur and Ser Barristan stood at the bottom of the dais to the Iron Throne, both with grim expressions on their faces. Cersei was scowling at Jon and Sansa from beside the throne, but it was Joffrey who drew the most attention from Jon.

He looked like his usual cocky self, but it was the green eyes that put Jon on edge. Fury and madness swam in those green depths, and Jon knew that he was mad about the Lannisters first loss.

"Step forward, Lady Sansa," commanded Joffrey, and Sansa let go of Jon's arm to walk to the foot of the dais and curtsied politely.

"Your grace," said Sansa sweetly.

"Your brother has won a great victory against my armies," said Joffrey smoothly, appearing unfazed. "What say you of that?"

"My brother is a traitor and a false king," recited Sansa.

"But you must feel some happiness? Joy that your brother has one a great battle?" pressed Joffrey.

"It is only one battle, your grace. I am sure you will win many more in the future," said Sansa, her head bowed so she couldn't look at the cruel king.

"That is true. But your brother deserves punishment, yet he is not here," mused Joffrey, his eyes now alight with a wicked gleam. "I guess I just have to punish the closest relative to me. Ser Meryn!"

Meryn stepped forward off the dais and punched Sansa so hard in the gut that she dropped forward, gasping for air. Jon froze and Meryn delivered another blow to Sansa's gut.

"NO!" roared Jon, and he charged forward, but when he was within striking distance of Ser Meryn, he was tackled to the ground by Sers Boros and Arys.

"Oh that's right. We have another Stark here as well," cackled Joffrey evilly. "Oh, of course he is but a bastard, but Stark blood runs through his veins nevertheless. Ser Boros, Ser Arys, continue."

Punches and kicks began to rain down on Jon's body, and he was unable to stop them all, and soon his whole body was racked with agony as blow after blow struck his face, his chest and stomach, his back and his arms and legs.

"Stop! Please you'll kill him!" pleaded Sansa, which was stifled by another cry of pain as Meryn struck Sansa in the back of the legs with the flat of his sword and she collapsed to her knees.

Jon's left eye had swollen shut and he could barely make out Sansa crying in front of him as Boros and Arys continued their attack, and Jon thought he might pass out from the pain.

"What is going on here?!" bellowed a voice, and into the throne room walked Lord Tyrion, flanked by Ser Bronn, his bodyguard he had found while Tyrion had spent time in the Vale under Lady Catelyn's charge.

"I am punishing these traitors for their brother's victory," snapped Joffrey.

"Oh, I am sorry, but I was unaware that both Lady Sansa and Ser Jon were able to get to the Riverlands during the night, fight alongside Robb Stark and return before the sun came up," hissed Tyrion sarcastically.

"They are traitors to the realm!" shouted Joffrey petulantly.

"And yet they are here as your guests. I did not think that one should treat their guests in such a barbaric manner," challenged Tyrion.

Joffrey glared at his uncle, but said nothing. "Fine, fine," he conceded. "But Ser Meryn, one more thing."

The crooked knight stood at attention, hovering just above Sansa menacingly.

"Remove her clothes," ordered the king, "let the court expose her for the traitor's sister that she is."

Sansa could only whimper as Meryn reached behind her and rent the gown in two, exposing her back for all to see. Jon struggled to crawl towards Sansa, but another punch to Jon's face stopped him. Sansa pulled her torn gown in front of her to cover her breasts, and her shoulders hunched forward in defeat and tears streaked down her face.

"Come my lady," offered Tyrion, taking Sansa's hand and pulling her up. "What kind of knight lays a hand on a lady?" he snarled at Ser Meryn.

"One who follows the order of his king," retorted Meryn.

Ser Bronn crouched down in front of Jon and as gently as he could, he scooped up the battered knight into his arms and followed Tyrion and Sansa out of the court.

"To my rooms," said Tyrion.

Jon could not remember much of the journey to Lord Tyrion's rooms, as he faded in and out of consciousness the whole way. He could not remember when he was laid down in the bed, and could barely hear the words being spoken. He vaguely heard Tyrion telling Sansa that he would find her a new gown before leaving, and gathered that Ser Bronn was standing outside.

Somebody gently removed Jon's leather doublet, tunic and small clothes. He felt something, coarse and wet run along his battered and bruised body, and a numbing sensation came over where the thing touched him. A low whine that sounded like a dog could be heard as whatever it was continued its ministrations, and Jon saw a large, red creature flit into his foggy vision before the darkness claimed him.

oOoOoOo

Blinding light greeted Jon when he awoke. Where was he? How long had he been unconscious for? He grunted in pain as he forced himself to sit up, but the pain was nowhere near as bad as after he had been brutalized in front of the whole court. He was able to open both his eyes, but the left still felt heavily swollen when he touched it gingerly.

Jon was in a room unfamiliar to him, but from what he remembered from the afternoon he was beaten, he had been taken to Lord Tyrion's room. The room was decorated in Lannister red and gold, and Jon felt tempted to tear the drapes and banners apart. He spotted Longclaw propped against the wall on the far side of the room, and he wondered who had put it there.

His thoughts were answered when the door opened, revealing Arthur clad in the gold armour and white cloak of the Kingsguard. Jon's face instantly contorted into a scowl and he glared at his uncle as the man pulled up a seat and sat down.

"I am so sorry Jon," said Arthur, barely above a whisper. "I promised your uncle I would take care of you, but all I have brought you is pain."

Jon's scowl deepened, but he said nothing, waiting for Arthur to continue.

"When I was Kingsguard serving under Aerys, I was assigned to protect Prince Rhaegar," continued Arthur. "When Robert's Rebellion began and I was asked to protect Lyanna Stark while Rhaegar rode off to battle, I was so tempted to forsake my orders and race to the Trident and protect the man I called brother. At the time, I thought it was the hardest thing to not forsake my vows and join him in death.

"Now, I see that that was easy compared to being forced to stand by and watch as Joffrey's lackeys beat you and your cousin. I almost drew my sword and prepared to kill those men who disgrace the white cloak and what it means to be a knight, but Ser Barristan stopped me from making that mistake."

"What is duty compared to love?" quoted Jon, remembering the words of the old Night's Watch maester.

"Exactly," agreed Arthur. He pushed his seat forward until his clenched fists rested on the foot of the bed.

"How long was I asleep for?" asked Jon.

"Three days," said Arthur. When Jon moved to get out of bed but hissed angrily at the pain in his side, he pressed on. "Your cousin is fine. Lord Tyrion has had her under his protection until you are fully recovered. She has been under constant guard by Ser Bronn."

Jon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "How is she?"

"Not as bad as you physically. Maester Pycelle informed me that she has severe bruising on her stomach from Ser Meryn's punches, but is otherwise fine. She was more worried about you," said Arthur with a raised eyebrow.

"What else has happened?"

"Ser Barristan was released of his vows yesterday, and has since left the capital."

Jon's eyes widened in shock. "What? How? Kingsguard serve for life! Joffrey cannot simply do that-"

"I know that Jon," said Arthur firmly, stopping Jon's ranting. "It was a foolish mistake of the king and his mother's part. They assumed that Ser Barristan was too old to serve, but anyone who truly knows him knows that he could kill all the other Kingsguard single-handedly still, perhaps including me. Lord Tywin was furious when he found out."

"Where did he go?" asked Jon, feeling sad that the old knight had lost his purpose in life.

"I have my suspicions. And if they are right, King Joffrey and Cersei will live to regret it," said Arthur darkly.

Jon raised an eyebrow, but did not push the subject.

"Is there anything else that is happening?"

"Nothing for now."

"Right."

Awkward silence filled Tyrion's room for the next few minutes, both men fidgeting slightly as they tried to deal with uncomfortable situation.

"I uh..." mumbled Jon, struggling for the right words to say.

"It is fine," said Arthur, smiling slightly.

"What?" said Jon.

"I assumed you were apologising to me," said Arthur.

"Oh. Yes, I was." _Was he?_

"Listen Jon," said Arthur, leaning forward on his chair. "There are things that will be happening soon, big things. I cannot talk to you of them right now, but trust me when I say that Joffrey Baratheon's reign will not last long."

"What do you mean?" asked Jon.

"I cannot say, because there are spies all throughout King's Landing," said Arthur with a shake of his head. "But in order for us to survive long enough, we have to trust each other implicitly." He extended his hand out for Jon to take. "Do we have a deal?"

Jon hesitated. Could he really trust his uncle after everything? Jon knew he could, and he was not truly mad at Arthur because the knight was merely doing his duty. He was more mad at the fact that Jon was the only one who tried to save Uncle Ned, the only one who actively tried to keep Sansa safe.

Jon extended his hand out and grabbed Arthur by the forearm with a firm grip. "Deal."

Arthur smiled. "Good, because since Barristan left and Jaime off to the Riverlands I have run out of competent sparring partners, and I feel like my skills have rusted," jested the man.

"You and your need to perfect your fighting," grumbled Jon, but he smiled nonetheless.

oOoOoOo

Sansa marched towards Jon with a blazing look in her eyes that reminded Jon of Arya whenever she was in a foul mood.

"What are you doing out of bed?!" she shrieked, and Jon blanched. This was definitely not the reunion he was expecting.

"Uh... guarding you?" said Jon, smiling uneasily at his cousin.

"You are not well, Ser Jon. You should be resting," scolded Sansa when she was standing before him at arm's length.

"I am well, my lady," said Jon.

That was a blatant lie, and Sansa knew it. Those who did not know Jon well would probably assume that he was fine except for the obvious bruising on his face, but Sansa had known Jon her whole life. He had tried to carry himself as normally as he could, but Sansa's keen eyes had seen the slight limp in his walk, the barely noticeable sag of his broad shoulders and the way he winced whenever he took a deep breath.

"You are _not_ well, Jon," said Sansa, using his first name instead of his title. "You need to rest."

"I have rested for three days. I need to stretch my legs," protested Jon.

"Jon, I _insist_ you rest," hissed Sansa.

"I cannot protect you if I am locked in Lord Tyrion's room."

"I have had Ser Bronn with me!"

"He is not your sworn shield I am!"

"Jon-"

"No my lady," said Jon firmly. "I will not fail my duties to you ever again. I will try not to strain myself too much, but I refuse to leave your side."

Sansa sighed but she relented with a small nod of her head. "Very well, but if I even glimpse you struggling, I will march you back to your rooms myself," she warned.

"Of course my lady," said Jon, smiling slightly.

oOoOoOo

The months passed, and with every victory Robb had across the realm, came more beatings. None were as bad as the first time it happened, but Jon was almost permanently sporting a black eye or bruised stomach, and Sansa's stomach was no better. Jon tried his best to take the punishment for his cousin, but Joffrey was adamant that all who shared Stark blood be dealt with equally. The worst beating Jon received was when the court learned that the Kingslayer had been captured by Robb's forced.

The only reason why their beatings had eased, Jon learned, was because Arthur had not-so subtly hinted that Dawn would be stained with somebody's blood if the beatings got out of control. And everyone knew that Arthur was a man of his word.

Jon feared for Sansa during those months. She no longer sang or talked of the stories Old Nan had told them as children. She hardly ever embroidered, she rarely smiled anymore, and she was cold to everyone, including Jon except for when she has to treat his injuries.

Four months after Robb's first victory, reports came of Renly Baratheon's murder at the hands of his older brother Stannis. It was good news for the Lannisters, now having one less army to contend with, but because of the youngest Baratheon's death Stannis' forces had almost doubled.

How Renly was killed was a matter of contention. Some spoke of the Brienne of Tarth killing the young man, others spoke of a shadow with the face of Stannis stabbing Renly in the back while he was in his own tent. Whatever the cause, Renly was dead. Jon learned through Robb that Lady Catelyn had been in Renly's camp and witnessed the murder firsthand, confirming the shadow story. According to Lady Stark, Renly had just agreed to an alliance with Robb's armies, but his death had severed the alliance completely.

More reports came of Stannis' army approaching King's Landing, and the Jon could smell the fear in the air. The Lannisters had not the numbers to repel Stannis Baratheon's army, and Jon sincerely hoped that Stannis would reign triumphant.

And so it was, on a warm night that Jon stood outside Sansa's chambers, looking out across the Blackwater Bay. Flickering lights could be seen on the dark horizon, the only sign that Stannis' fleet was approaching. He could see far down guards and soldiers scrambling along the walls, and the faint shouts or orders being spoken echoed through the halls.

Jon gripped the hilt of Longclaw tightly, his whole body tense in preparation of a fight. The odds that he would actually see any action were low, unless of course somehow the Baratheon army made it into the city. And from the amount of ships that were sailing into the bay, the odds of that happening were very high.

The ships kept coming, slow and graceful into the water and bearing the burning red heart and stag of Stannis' house. A single flaming arrow was fired from the city's walls into the middle of the fleet, which landed in the water.

Suddenly the water was alighted in green flame, and with an enormous _BOOM,_ the wildfire exploded and destroyed half the ships in the bay.

The screams of the dying filtered through the castle, making Jon nervous with anticipation. It was a brilliant move on Lord Tyrion's part, to make use of the caches of wildfire left behind by the Mad King. It had leveled the playing field dramatically, but Jon could see scores of longboats making their way to the Blackwater Rush.

"Jon, what is going on?" asked a timid voice from behind him.

Jon whipped his head around to see Sansa looking at him with those big blue eyes fearfully, and she was shaking slightly.

"Lord Tyrion's plan worked," said Jon, "But Stannis has already landed on the beach."

Sansa walked forward to stand at his side, and her eyes widened in horror at the sight. The ships caught in the explosion were still on fire, but the clashes of steel had joined the screaming and shouting.

Jon heard a noise approaching from down the hall, and Jon quickly pushed Sansa behind him, unsheathing Longclaw in one fluid motion. However, there was little need to worry, for a messenger appeared.

"The Queen Regent requests that Lady Sansa join her and the rest of the ladies in Maegor's Holdfast," said the messenger fearfully before he bolted out of the hall to hide somewhere.

Jon gave Sansa a confused look before escorting Sansa to where she had been requested. He opened the door into the holdfast to find many ladies sitting with terrified looks. Even Cersei looked nervous as she clutched her goblet so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

"That will be all Ser Jon," sneered Cersei. "You may join my brother to defend the city."

Sansa looked horrified to be left alone with Cersei, but Jon knew he could not defy and order from the Queen. So with a bow and one last look at Sansa, Jon left the room and raced down to the city walls.

As he left the keep and ran through the streets, Jon could hear the screams getting louder. It was only amplified when he transformed into his wolf to make better time. The great white wolf zipped nimbly through the streets of King's Landing despite his huge size, and he expertly avoided the arrows that were streaming from beyond the walls.

He transformed when he found Lord Tyrion, accompanied by Ser Bronn fighting on one of the outer walls closest to the Blackwater Rush.

"What is happening?!" shouted Jon over the loud noises of battle.

"The walls have fallen! We must retreat!" replied Tyrion. "Why are you not with your lady cousin?"

"Queen Cersei sent for Sansa," was all Jon said as he drew both Longclaw and the new steel sword. "Where is Ser Arthur?"

"Your uncle has taken command of the inner walls. We will rally to him there," said Tyrion, and with that he took off, ordering men to follow him.

Not far away, Jon could hear somebody rallying the Baratheon troops. "Come with me and take this city!" bellowed the man.

Jon ignored it when a Baratheon soldier charged at him with a spear. Jon dodged the thrust and cut the man's arm off with one swing of Longclaw, then finished him with his other sword.

Blood stained the stone walls, and bleeding men pleaded with Jon to help them. Jon ignored this and continued to follow Tyrion and Bronn, the two knights cutting down men left, right and centre to reach Arthur. By the time they had reached the inner walls both of Jon's swords were coated in blood, and his leather armour was no better. Sweat and grime covered his face, giving Jon a grim look, though his grey eyes blazed through the darkness.

A tall, heavily armoured man blocked their way and he issued a challenge to the three men.

"I will handle him," said Jon and told the other two to flee while he readied himself against the enemy knight.

The knight wore a thick longsword and a steel shield, emblazoned with the red heart and stag of Stannis Baratheon. He smacked his sword onto his shield tauntingly, issuing a loud clang. Jon responded by sneering at the knight and let him make the first move.

The knight attacked first and brought his longsword down hard, but Jon deflected it with Longclaw and swung his other at the same time. The knight blocked it with his shield and swung his sword again, forcing Jon back. The two warriors traded blows, but none connected. Jon may have had two weapons, but the knight was well protected behind his shield and armour.

Jon was too slow to react to the knight's latest swing, and the tip of the blade grazed down Jon's left brow to his cheek, narrowly avoiding his eye. Jon stumbled back but ignored the pain and blood dripping into his eye and attacked again. The knight had been thrown off by his attack, and Jon pressed his advantage. Soon the knight had dropped his sword, his right hand still holding the hilt. The man no time to scream because Longclaw slid across his throat and he choked on his own blood.

Jon did not spare the dead knight a second glance and ran back to join Tyrion and Bronn, who were being driven back by a score of soldiers. Jon came around from behind, and two men were dead before the others realised another had joined the battle.

Longclaw glimmered in the dull light, slashing through armour and flesh like a hot knife through butter. Jon's face was set in grim look of determination as he cut through the Baratheon soldiers. He did not enjoy taking lives like Ser Bronn seemed to, but he knew it was necessary in order to protect himself. To protect _Sansa._

Jon spotted Arthur a little ways away, singlehandedly taking on seven Baratheon knights. The blood could not dampen the glow of Dawn, and the famous sword seemed to be a rallying point for the Lannister army. Jon pointed out Arthur's location to Tyrion and made to follow him, but Jon was cut off from Tyrion when another score of Baratheon troops descended upon them.

Jon was forced to retreat, but his path to Arthur was unimpeded. When he got to Arthur, Jon cut the head off a man who had attempted to attack Arthur from behind, then stabbed another through the chest with Longclaw. Arthur turned around, and grinned at the sight of his nephew joining him.

The two men stood back to back, twirling their swords threateningly as a challenge to the large group of men who surrounded them. The men on Arthur's side were hesitant, knowing Arthur's reputation, while the men on Jon's side had not seen him fight and were more eager.

Two men attacked Jon at once, and he used both his swords to block their attacks. He heard Arthur behind him engaging in combat as well, but he focussed on his own battle. He sliced Longclaw across the first man's stomach, spilling his guts on the floor in a wet mess, while his second sword went through the other's throat. Jon was already fighting his next wave of opponents by the time the man fell to the ground.

As the battle progressed, the enemies grew more wary of Jon, realising he was no mere foot soldier. They tried to attack him from all sides one at a time to wear Jon out, but he had fought for longer in the North against far deadlier enemies.

Soon, the numbers of the Baratheon soldiers around Jon and Arthur began to dwindle until there was none left to challenge them. Jon collapsed on one knee, using Longclaw to support his weight as he took a deep breath. He used his free hand to wipe the blood running down the cut to his brow away from his eye, then looked over to Arthur.

The Sword of the Morning wrenched Dawn out of the chest of a now-dead soldier, and looked back at Jon.

"A bit different from Hardhome, isn't it?" said Arthur with a smile.

"This is easy compared to Hardhome," scoffed Jon, standing back up. "At least here, the dead _stay_ dead."

Despite the circumstances, Arthur laughed. He swung Dawn in the air gracefully and said, "we must find Lord Tyrion. He is the commander here."

"The King is not here?" asked Jon, hope seeping into his voice.

"The King is not dead," said Arthur, shattering Jon's hopes. "His mother called him back when the fighting started."

"Coward," muttered Jon, and Arthur did not bother to defend Joffrey.

"Let us get a move on," said Arthur, and the two men left the dead be while they went in search of the youngest Lannister.

They found Tyrion, unconscious and with a bloody gash cut diagonally across his face, being held by a man younger than Jon, who he recognised as being Podrick Payne. Beside them lay the body of a Kingsguard, Mandon Moore, who had a lance sticking out of the back of his head.

"Will he live?" asked Arthur, crouching down to inspect Tyrion's wound.

"I am not sure ser," muttered Podrick. "Ser Mandon tried to kill him."

"Mandon?!" growled Arthur. He nudged the dead Kingsguard's body with his foot and grunted in distaste. "He was a disgrace to the white cloaks anyway."

"We need to get him to a maester," said Jon.

"I've got him," said Arthur and he sheathed his swords and picked up Tyrion. Podrick went over and pulled the lance from Mandon's skull, then came back. "Jon, you take point," ordered Arthur.

Jon took the lead and led the group down the walls and into the middle of the city, hoping to find a healer or somebody else to take care of Tyrion so that they could join the fighting again. He had to kill a couple wayward Baratheon soldiers along the way, and had to cling to the shadows for a time when they were blocked by a battalion of the enemy.

They eventually found some smallfolk who were more than willing to take Tyrion back to the Red Keep if it meant escaping the battle around them. Arthur ordered Podrick to accompany them, while he and Jon ran back to the fighting.

"We are too far away to get there in time," grunted Arthur. "The fighting, it does not look like it is going in our favour."

Indeed from their position, Jon could see dozens of Lannister men falling to the even larger number of Baratheons.

"I know a way," said Jon. He sheathed his swords and crouched down, his body doubling, then tripling then quadrupling in size as white fur sprang out all over his body. When the transformation was complete, Jon huffed a deep breath and Arthur immediately understood. The knight leapt up onto Jon's back, and together, knight and direwolf, they charged back into the fray.

 _KIll them all Jon,_ said Arya excitedly.

Jon growled in response, and increased his speed so that the stone walls and buildings were nothing but a blur.

"CHARGE!" bellowed Arthur from above them as they came closer, and the attentions of many of the warriors was drawn to them.

Many of the Baratheon soldiers, and even a number of Lannisters, eyes widened in surprise and horror at the sight of the Sword of the Morning riding a direwolf towards them. Before they could react, Jon pounced, and Arthur cut a man's head clean off with one swing of Dawn. Jon crushed another soldier beneath him, then sunk his fangs into another's sword arm and tore it off.

"TO ME! FOR THE KING!" shouted Arthur above the sounds of battle, raising Dawn high into the air. "TO ME!"

Lannister soldiers rallied to Jon and Arthur's side, and the knight and wolf led the charge up the city walls. Jon tore men's arms, throats, heads and legs off while swatting others off the battlements, and Arthur twirled his swords in a deadly dance, cutting down any Baratheon who came too close. It was sight worthy of joining the most famous stories, the White Wolf and the Sword of the Morning leading the defence of King's Landing against Stannis Baratheon.

The sun eventually rose up, and with it Stannis and what remained of his army retreated, forced back when Tywin Lannister and his forces, accompanied by the Tyrell armies led by Ser Loras Tyrell arrived in the knick of time to push the Baratheons back.

Jon and Arthur led the forces as they pushed Stannis' army back to the beach, the White Wolf's fur almost completely soaked red in the blood of his enemies. As Stannis' fleet sailed out of Blackwater Bay, Jon let out a long, haunting howl that was accompanied by the cheers of the soldiers of King's Landing.

Arthur stood at Jon's side, a small smile playing on his lips. "Oh, how Barristan would have loved to have been here. We haven't been in a good battle in years," he said wistfully.

Jon responded with a low whine. He honestly missed the old knight. Jon had been harsh on the man who simply looked out for his and Sansa's wellbeing in his own way, and Jon had pushed him away.

"Come, we must tell our king of our victory," said Arthur, and knight and wolf led the procession back to the Red Keep.

They were met with many cheers by the smallfolk as they navigated their way through the capital. All were either screaming "SER DAYNE!" or "THE WHITE WOLF!" chanting it over and over again. Jon felt a swell in his heart at the call of his title. Ever since he was a small boy he had wanted nothing but approval from his peers and the people he served, and now he had it. It was a shame that it was the people of King's Landing, and not the North, cheering his name. And it was even more of a shame that they still did not know of the true threat Beyond the Wall.

oOoOoOo

Jon saw Sansa first before he saw anyone else. It wasn't hard, what with her kissed-by-fire hair blowing gently in the morning breeze. She saw him too, and walked as quickly as propriety allowed to reach him. Arthur stood by Jon and watched his nephew curiously, but Jon ignored him. Sansa stopped just in front of him, and though her face remained impassive, Jon could see the worry swimming in her eyes.

"Are you unharmed, Ser?" asked Sansa politely.

"I am," said Jon, bowing slightly as courtesy dictated.

Beside Jon, Arthur scoffed. "He has a small cut on his eyes that will leave a nice scar for the rest of his life," he pointed out.

Sansa frowned as she searched for the cut, which was difficult seeing as Jon was covered head to toe in blood.

"Come," she ordered and practically dragged Jon away from the cheering crowd, ignoring Joffrey and Cersei's heated looks as they did so.

Sansa took them up to her chambers and forced Jon into a chair, then disappeared for a few moments. She came back with a wet cloth and a small purse filled with her embroidery things and knelt down in front of him.

"Sansa," started Jon.

"Shush," hissed Sansa and she began to wipe the blood off his face. The hot water stung the cut to his face a little, but Jon did not flinch in the slightest. He had received far worse in the training yard.

Sansa scowled when the blood refused to come out of his beard and hair and Jon chuckled. "It is alright my lady. I will clean myself up properly when I take a bath," he said lightly.

"Very well," said Sansa, dropping the bloodstained cloth and fetching the bag. She pulled out a long, thin needle and some wire, then used her free hand to guide Jon's to her waist.

"What are you doing?" asked Jon.

"Giving something for you told on to while I work," answered Sansa.

"Oh."

Silence fell between the two as Sansa pinched the cut together, then stuck the needle through the flesh. Jon gritted his teeth, and his grip on Sansa's waist tightened slightly, but he held still as she completed her work.

"It sounded awful down there," commented Sansa, speaking of the battle.

"I've been through much worse," said Jon stiffly.

Sansa looked down from her work to look Jon in the eyes. "Beyond the Wall?" she asked.

Jon nodded.

"How?"

Jon hesitated for a moment. He did not want to bring up the memories of Hardhome, to have those glowing blue eyes, colder than ice coming up to the forefront of his mind. His mouth and brain however decided to work against him.

"Here, last night, I killed a lot of men. One good stab or cut and a man will go down," Jon heard himself saying. "Here, men fight, kill and die for a cause they believe in.

"Not the Others. They kill because they enjoy it, because they can and want to. Here, you kill a man, they stay dead. If a man dies fighting the White Walkers, that's just another soldier for them. And the dead, they don't stay down. They'll keep coming at you until they don't even look human anymore."

Jon's expression had turned faraway, and he had almost forgotten that Sansa was with him.

"The White Walkers are even worse though. They're even harder to kill than the wights. Fire doesn't affect them because they're so cold. Normal steel shatters when they touch it and they move faster than anything I've ever seen, though maybe not as fast as a direwolf.

"When you watch men who fought beside you come back and try to kill you with eyes that show no feeling or remorse, nothing will ever affect you anymore I fear."

"It sounded horrible," said Sansa, drawing Jon back to the present.

"It was far worse than anything you could ever imagine," said Jon, his voice barely above a whisper.

The next night, the screams of the dying in Hardhome came back to him in his dreams, this time accompanied by the dead of Blackwater.

oOoOoOo

All throughout King's Landing, people spoke of Ser Arthur Dayne riding Jon Snow, the White Wolf of Winterfell into battle against Stannis Baratheon. The smallfolk and mummers all spoke of Jon's savagery as a wolf, and his skill with a sword. Some of the more bold claimed that Jon had killed just as many Baratheon soldiers as Ser Arthur, heralding him as the new Sword of the Morning, even though Arthur still held that title.

When Jon asked Arthur about it, his uncle merely laughed and clapped Jon on the back, stating that someday soon Jon would wield Dawn. That disturbed Jon more than the rumours about him; the way Arthur said it, it sounded like Jon would be wielding the famous sword sooner rather than later.

With the arrival of Tywin Lannister and the Tyrells came scores of new people coming to court. The Tyrells were an interesting lot, to say the least. Lord Mace was a bit of an idiot, possessing nothing of the shrewd mind of his mother Lady Olenna. Now that was a woman who could thrive in court, and she had no time for false courtesies and smiles. She often got straight to the point and Jon admired that about her, but he did not exactly trust her, for he could see the plotting behind her old face.

Margaery Tyrell was quite possibly one of the most beautiful women Jon had ever seen, with long, light brown hair that descended down to her waist and big brown eyes. She was sweet, but Jon could see that she was just as cunning as Lady Olenna. However, Margaery won Jon's favour when she went out of her way to befriend Sansa simply because she wanted to.

Jon thought she was a godsend, because Sansa's mood had definitely brightened up considerably. As it was, almost a moon's turn since the Battle of the Blackwater, Jon was shadowing his red-haired cousin to a gazebo, where Sansa would be having lunch with Margaery and Lady Olenna.

"Ah! Sansa, Ser Jon! How pleasant of you to join us!" exclaimed MArgaery happily when Jon and Sansa arrived at one of the gazebos in the palace gardens that overlooked the bay.

Sansa curtsied while Jon bowed and laid a soft kiss on Margaery's outstretched hand.

"My lady," said Jon shyly, making sure his eyes were fixed on the ground so he wouldn't look at the extensive amount of cleavage Margaery was showing off.

Margaery giggled. "Oh Ser Jon. You can fight deadly knights and monsters beyond the Wall but not look a pretty woman in the eyes?" she said teasingly.

Jon ignored the jest, as he was more surprised that Margaery knew of what was happening to the North.

"You know of the Others?" said Jon in surprise.

"Of course we do, the whole bloody realm has been talking about how you and Ser Arthur Dayne arrived in King's Landing talking about monsters and the undead marching on the Wall," said Lady Olenna.

"Do you believe the what they said?" asked Sansa.

"Of course I do. No one would call Arthur Dayne a liar except for an idiot," said Lady Olenna.

 _And most of the court do not believe us,_ thought Jon. _Oh Lady Olenna, you are a funny woman._

"Shall we eat?" suggested Margaery hopefully.

"Yes let's," agreed Lady Olenna, and the three women sat down.

When Jon went to stand guard outside, he was stopped by Margaery's voice. "Ser Jon, will you not join us?"

Jon turned around, feeling stunned. "I must stand watch outside for Lady Sansa..." he began.

"Oh nonsense, you are most welcome to dine with us," said Margaery, and she stood up, grabbed Jon by the wrist and pulled him over to the table with them.

It was a bit awkward for Jon to sit, having two swords strapped to his belt and he was forced to take them off to get comfortable. He let his secondary sword lay on the ground near his feet, but Longclaw remained perched against his seat, close to his hand in case an emergency arose.

He said very little as the three women gossiped about anything and everything, so he let his eyes linger about outside the gazebo. He saw various nobles strolling through the bushes and flowers, a few guards and a stray kitchen cat. When he spotted Ser Loras Tyrell, Jon gave a small nod when their eyes met, and the pretty knight responded in a similar manner, grinning slightly.

 _And Tormund though_ I _was pretty. Just wait until he sees Loras,_ thought Jon in amusement. There had been no news of Mance of Tormund since Uncle Ned's execution, though Joffrey had declared a kill order on any wildlings found South of the Wall. Luckily, the wildlings were under the North's protection thanks to Jon convincing Robb of the need to shelter them.

Thinking of Robb instantly put Jon in a sour mood. the Young Wolf had broken his vow to the Freys and married a Westerling girl, even though he was supposed to marry one of Walder Frey's daughters or granddaughters, whichever one it was. It had become a point of contention between Jon and Robb. Jon felt that Robb should have fulfilled his duty and done what he had promised, as the Freys were more than likely highly offended at the slight and probably feel less inclined to help the North. Robb, on the other hand, was stubborn in believing that he had done the right thing in marrying for love, and would not be persuaded otherwise.

"What say you, Ser Jon?" asked Margaery, bringing Jon back to the present.

Jon blinked in confusion. "Pardon?" he said.

Sansa frowned, but Margaery giggled. "I was asking on you opinion on King Joffrey," said Margaery. "You see, I have become betrothed to him, and I wanted to get an idea on the King."

Jon's face must have darkened as significantly in his mood, because both Margaery and Lady Olenna suddenly squirmed in their seats uncomfortably.

"Did you tell them about Joffrey?" said Jon quietly to Sansa.

"I-I was about to, but I do not know what to say without seeming like a traitor to the crown," stammered Sansa.

"We already are traitors to the crown by association," growled Jon. He then turned to look at Margaery and Lady Olenna. "If you want to know about Joffrey, let me tell you.

"People call my cousin and I monsters because we can turn into wolves the size of horses. But Joffrey is the real monster. When my cousin Robb won his first victory against the Lannisters, Joffrey had both Sansa and I beaten in front of the entire court. I was beaten so badly I was left unconscious for three whole days. Every victory Robb has had since, we have been beaten for in front of everybody.

"Prince Tommen told me how Joffrey likes to cut open the kitchen cats simply because he finds it fun. He ordered his bastard sibling living in King's Landing killed because he feared for the security of his crown. Babies were killed in that massacre.

"You want to know what Joffrey is like? He is a cruel monster, and you would do well to keep that in mind," finished Jon, his voice ending in a snarl.

Lady Olenna and Margaery shared uneasy looks with each other, while Sansa reached forward and laid a hand on Jon's clenched fist. Jon's face softened at Sansa's touch, and he settled down.

"Oh," was all Margaery could say.

oOoOoOo

Night descended on King's Landing as Jon walked alone through the halls of the Red Keep. Robb and Lady Catelyn were attending his uncle Edmure's wedding to Roslin Frey, and Jon wasn't sure how he felt about that. It was good that Robb had been able to renew the North's relations with the Freys, but Jon felt it would have been better that Robb had upheld his end of the original bargain sooner.

Jon walked past a group of Gold Cloaks sharing some Arbour Gold together, and they nodded in greeting to Jon. He said hello back to them, but did not stop to chat, instead he kept walking back to his chambers.

It was a long walk, seeing as he was on the other side of the Red Keep, but it did not take as long as it used to, as Jon was now familiar with most of the halls and corridors of the castle. Besides, the Red Keep was nowhere near as big as Winterfell, and Jon knew that place like the back of his hand.

When he had entered the corridor leading to his bedchambers, Jon was suddenly hit with such excruciating pain that he doubled over. His head felt lightheaded and he sank to his knees, clutching his chest as agony bloomed through him. It wasn't just physical pain he felt, it was emotional as well.

It took Jon a moment to realise that the pain he was feeling was not his own, but rather one of the other Starks. Was it Sansa? Was Joffrey having her beaten again? He reached out with his mind to find her, but the torture was not coming from her. The Starks' mind connection was nowhere near as powerful as a human compared to when they're wolves, but it was enough to know where another Stark was. So having this much agony coming through while Jon was still human, it meant something horrible had happened.

He transformed quickly and sought out one of the other wolf's presence, and he found Arya.

 _Arya? What is happening?_ he demanded.

 _THE BOLTONS AND FREYS HAVE BETRAYED US!_ she practically shouted back at him.

 _What? How? Why? Where are you Arya?_

There was a brief pause before Arya answered. _I'd just left the wedding early to get some air, when I heard the screaming._

 _That does not answer my question. Where are you?_

 _I'm hiding in the forest right now._

Jon could hear the fear creeping into her voice.

 _Jon, they're slaughtering our men._

 _Arya, do not go back! If you do, you will become a target and they will come for you,_ ordered Jon.

 _But I have to help Robb and mother!_ protested Arya.

 _They will be fine, you just have to get to safety,_ said Jon.

Jon was overcome with a pain straight to his heart, which shook him so hard he collapsed, letting out a low whine. It was unlike Uncle Ned's death, where it was so quick that Jon barely felt it. This pain was slow, and Jon felt the life bleed out of whoever it was slowly, leaving a gaping hole in Jon's soul.

He transformed back into a human, and it dulled the pain a little, but it still hurt unlike anything he had ever felt before. Jon knew what had happened. Robb had been murdered at his own wedding, by the Boltons if Arya was to be believed. So Jon sank to the floor and pulled his knees in over his chest and wrapped his arms around them, then cried. HE cried so much for the loss of his cousin, a man who was more like a brother than anything else. He guessed that Lady Catelyn was dead as well, and while she had never treated Jon fairly, it still saddened him immensely.

The tears kept coming for a long time before Jon was finally able to pull himself together. He had to find Sansa and tell her.

He knocked on her door to her chambers quietly, and immediately the door was flung open, as if Sansa was expecting him. Seeing her, with puffy red eyes and tears still falling down her face made Jon's heart break all over again, and the two grabbed each other and held on tightly, sinking to their knees at the doorway as they cried into each other's shoulders, sharing their grief at the loss of another one of their pack members.

oOoOoOo

The next morning, Jon walked with Sansa into the throne room, his expression hard and sharp as Valyrian steel. Joffrey smiled smugly as the two cousins walked into the room.

"I have news from the Riverlands," proclaimed Joffrey. "The Northern Rebellion has been crushed, and Robb Stark is dead, murdered at his own wedding in an event orchestrated by my own grandfather and Roose Bolton."

Jon saw Tywin Lannister looking down on them with no expression, and Jon hated the man more than ever. Sansa's grip on his arm tightened, holding him in place.

"As promised Lady Sansa, I have asked for your brother's head to be sent here on a plate for you," continued Joffrey, that cruel grin still plastered on his face.

Jon was starting to shake, and Sansa's grip tightened even more. At the bottom of the dais, he could see Arthur watching him with an alarmed look, shaking his head slightly.

"What kind of king organizes a massacre at a wedding? Within the walls of one's home?" blurted out Jon furiously, stopping Joffrey from continuing his taunting. "You have violated the sacred oaths of guest right, and none shall rest peacefully within the walls of another's home anymore!"

"Jon," squeaked Sansa, but Jon shook her off and took a step forward.

"I name you Oath Breaker! You who would destroy our realm simply because you can! You are no better than the Mad King!" bellowed Jon, pointing an accusing finger at Joffrey.

Joffrey's lips cured into a snarl and he snapped his fingers, and Ilyn Payne stepped forward.

"Bring me the bastard's head," sneered Joffrey.

"NO!" screamed Sansa, and she rushed forward, but was held back by Ser Loras.

Meryn Trant and Boros Blount grabbed Jon by the arms and forced him down to his knees. The sound of Sansa begging for mercy reminded Jon of Uncle Ned's death, and he could feel the irony of it all.

Ilyn Payne stepped forward, carrying Ice and he stepped over Jon. The King's Justice gave a practice swing in front of Jon's head, eerily reminiscent of Eddard Stark's execution. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer as Payne swung the sword down to his neck.

 _CLANG!_ Jon automatically lifted his head at the sound, and his eyes were greeted with the sight of a pale white blade blocking the path of Ice's trajectory. Arthur stood opposite Ilyn Payne with a murderous look in his eyes, his hand gripping Dawn tightly. Ilyn Payne automatically took a step back from Arthur in fear, then the knight helped Jon up to his feet. Sers Meryn and Boros both had drawn their swords as well, but they looked hesitant to face Arthur, and for good reason.

"What is the meaning of this?!" screamed Joffrey. "I ordered the execution of this traitor! I want his head!"

The way Joffrey was shouting and smacking his hand on the throne reminded Jon of a toddler throwing a tantrum.

"And I said that somebody would be tasting Dawn's blade if this got out of hand," said Arthur in a menacing growl.

"You dare threaten the King?" hissed Cersei.

"I dare threaten Ilyn Payne, your grace," said Arthur. "If he had my nephew's head, I would have most certainly taken his."

Payne's eyes widened in fear and he took another step back.

"The bastard must be punished for speaking out against me!" complained Joffrey.

"And I am sure there are other ways than simply removing his head," countered Arthur.

Joffrey seemed to consider this and his upset face contorted into a grin.

"Very well then. Ser Jon Snow! I hereby charge you of speaking out against the King, and hereby sentence you to a public whipping of thirty lashes," declared Joffrey.

 _That isn't so bad,_ thought Jon. _Painful, but not bad._ But then he realised he spoke too soon.

"Lady Sansa will carry out the sentence."

Before Jon could protest, he was lifted off his feet by Meryn and Boros and carried outside, out of the keep, through the streets and up to the steps of the Sept of Baelor. Jon was surprised to see that a wooden post had already been erected right where Lord Stark's head had been taken.

Joffrey stepped forward to declare Jon's crimes to the gathered crowd of smallfolk, but looked angry that more people were cursing his name rather than Jon's. in their eyes, Jon was the hero of Blackwater, the one who saved their lives while their King hid away in his keep with his mother.

Sansa stepped forward, looking even more pale that usual as Jon's hands were roughly tied against the post. Beside her, Arthur looked much the same and his hand clutched the hilt of his sword tightly.

Jon felt rough hands tear open his doublet and tunic, exposing his back.

"I'm sorry," he heard Sansa whisper before the first lash came.

It was painful and stung immensely, but Jon bore it well, and the next lash, then the next. By the tenth lashing, Jon's face was scrunched up, and he could feel blood beginning to drip down. He could hear Sansa crying as she whipped him over and over again, each new lashing far more agonizing than the last. His head began to feel faint from blood loss, and he sagged against the post, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost count after the twentieth.

 **Sansa**

Sansa felt numb as the Kingsguard untied Jon's limp form from the post. The whip she held was slick with her cousin's blood, and some of it dripped down and coated her pale hands. Ilyn Payne yanked the whip out of her grasp and he hands dropped to her sides.

She was unable to take her eyes off Jon's back. It was completely covered in blood, and horrible red lashes criss-crossed all over, ruining the skin of his well-muscled back and shoulders. _I did that,_ thought Sansa, feeling sick.

Ser Arthur ordered some Gold Cloaks to carry Jon back to the Red Keep, stressing the need for gentleness with a pat of his sword. Arthur then walked over to Sansa and carefully guided her down the stairs. She did not remember much of the trip back to the Red Keep, as were gaze and mind was fixed on Jon, who was being carried back on a stretcher ahead of them. He lay on his stomach, showing the city exactly what Sansa had been forced to do to him.

The lashes were red and nasty, the edges swelling up like a bloodied mountain range on his back. Looking at them made Sansa feel faint; she thought she would be used to the sight of blood, having watched her father be decapitated and helping Jon clean the injuries he received from training or battle. But unfortunately she was wrong. It did not help that Jon was the only one she had left, and he yet again acted impulsively.

They took Jon up to Lord Tyrion's rooms, where Sansa's handmaiden Shae had prepared a table to rest Jon on. Tyrion himself looked at him with worry, muttering about cruel nephews and evil kings. Jon groaned loudly when the soldiers and Ser Arthur moved him from the stretcher to the table, and Sansa's eyes automatically filled with tears.

"Get Maester Pycelle," order Arthur to one of the soldiers, who nodded vigorously and darted out of the chambers.

Shae had prepared a bucket of water and some rags, so Sansa thought to make herself useful and grabbed a rag, soaked it in the warm water and gently brushed it down Jon's back. Jon stiffened and groaned some more, but he was too weak to protest too much. Sansa was careful to avoid the actual ugly gashes, instead focussing on wiping the dried blood from his back.

When the blood was wiped away, the horrendous lashes made a horrendously stark contrast to the pale skin of his back. Sansa blanched, and before she knew it, she was running over to an empty bucket and dumping the contents of her stomach into it. She wheezed for a few minutes, and Shae came over to hold her hair back. Sansa only moved away from the bucket of vomit when she heard the door open and Maester Pycelle shuffled in, his numerous chains clinking loudly.

The maester inspected Jon's injuries for a few minutes, and during that time, Sansa held Shae's hand tightly.

"Will he live?" Arthur finally asked to break the silence.

"More than likely," answered the old maester. "His wounds will need to be cleaned and bandaged regularly and thoroughly, and he will have to rest for at least a week."

"Is there a chance of infection?" asked Tyrion, his hideously scarred face contorted with worry.

"Possibly. But I have brought some potions that should help clot the wounds and help with the healing," said Maester Pycelle, and he pulled out some vials and a jar of salve.

"Thank you," said Arthur, and the maester took it as his dismissal, waddling out of the chambers as quickly as his frail body could.

"We have to get these children out of here," whispered Lord Tyrion.

"They'll die if they stay here any longer," agreed Ser Arthur.

Lord Tyrion sighed. "Have you received any news from your friend?"

"I have. He said he reached her several months ago and her company are on its way to Meereen."

 _Meereen? Who is on their way to Meereen?_ thought Sansa.

"Would she take them in? They are the children of the men who overthrew her family's kingdom," said Tyrion worriedly.

"I have something that will convince her to offer them safe haven. Perhaps she will even allow them a place on her council," assured Ser Arthur.

Shae reached for the jar and opened it. "Try to get him to drink those," she instructed to Sansa, pointing to the vials that rested on the table.

Sansa nodded her head and grabbed the vials off the table, Lord Tyrion and Ser Arthur's conversation forgotten for the moment, then moved to crouch down next to Jon's face. He was sweating profusely, and kept emitting groans that sounded like a man dying. _No, I will not let him die,_ thought Sansa.

"Jon? Jon, open your mouth," cooed Sansa quietly.

Jon's head turned slightly at the sound of Sansa's voice, and he murmured her name.

"Yes, that's it Jon. Open your mouth, I have something that will make you feel better," encouraged Sansa and she unstoppered one vial and poured it down Jon's throat.

Jon coughed and gagged, but the movement caused his back to shift and he let out a loud cry of pain.

"Easy Jon," soothed Sansa, and while she fed him the other vials slowly, the chambers door opened again.

"Oh, Jon!" whimpered a timid voice, and Sansa turned her head around to see Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen looking at Jon's mutilated back in horror. Sansa felt a wave of hot anger wash over her that didn't entirely belong to her (possibly Arya through their connection) but she pushed it down and stepped up from her crouch to courtesy at the royal siblings.

"Your graces," said Sansa.

"Is he alright?" asked Tommen, looking paler by the minute as he stared at Jon.

"He will be eventually," answered Tyrion, while Sansa knelt back down to stare at Jon's face.

She had given him milk of the poppy to give him rest, and the effects were already settling in. Jon's forehead was no longer creased in pain, his frown smoothing out into a gentle sigh of relief. Sansa gently ran a hand through his thick, dark curls that framed his face, and stoked the dark, thick hair on his chin.

"Does your mother know you are here?" asked Ser Arthur.

"No, when we found out Ser Jon had been punished, we snuck out of our lessons to find him," said Princess Myrcella.

Sansa glanced at the princess to see tears swimming in her green eyes, looking at Jon with such a fierce devotion it confused Sansa. She knew that Jon spent a lot of time with the youngest Baratheon children and they were on excellent terms, far better than she herself ever had with him growing up.

"When Ser Jon wakes up, we will tell him of your visit. I am sure he will appreciate it," said Lord Tyrion.

Tommen nodded and went to stand by the door, but Myrcella stepped closer to Jon's sleeping form. "May I?" she asked Sansa.

Sansa frowned, but consented and stepped aside for the Princess to kneel before Jon. The golden-haired girl performed the same ministrations on Jon as Sansa had just moments prior, stroking his cheek and hair softly.

"Sleep well, Jon," whispered Myrcella and she placed a small kiss on the tip of Jon's nose before she got up and left with Tommen.

Sansa, Lord Tyrion and Ser Arthur all shared a similar bewildered expression with each other. _Did the Princess love Jon?_


	5. Chapter 5- Escape to Meereen

_A/N- Wow the saltiness is real lol. I am aware that there are a few inconsistencies throughout the story which I take full responsibility for and I apologise for that. I probably won't go back and fix them though and instead I'm making sure these inconsistencies don't happen later on._

 **Chapter 5- Escape to Meereen**

"Stop pushing yourself!" shouted Arthur when Jon grunted in pain for the fifth time.

Jon ignored his uncle and rolled his shoulders back, eliciting another groan as the lashes protested. The royal wedding between Joffrey and Lady Margaery was less than a week away, and Jon wanted to be healthy and fit for it. Not that he was excited about it at all, in fact he dreaded it. But he wanted to be there to watch over Sansa, for who knew how Joffrey would humiliate her there.

"Seven Hells Jon, you've opened up a couple again," cursed Arthur.

Jon could feel the blood trickling down his back and winced. The lashes had only just started to heal up properly after over a moon of rest. Most had been sealed together by thick, pink lines of new skin that would permanently mar his back for the rest of his life. Jon wondered if the scars would show up in his wolf form, for the scars he received on his face against the White Walker and during the Battle of the Blackwater could be seen through the white fur on his wolf's face, making him seem all the more intimidating. _Great, soon they'll be calling me the Scarred White Wolf._

"You realise that your lady cousin will not be happy if she has to stitch them up again?" said Arthur in amusement, and Jon could not help but laugh.

"No, I do not think she will," agreed Jon. "That is why we will not be telling her."

Arthur raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and he came over to help Jon up from the dirt in the training yard. "I have important news," whispered Arthur, making Jon's head snap up.

"What is it?" said Jon quietly.

Arthur glanced around the empty training yard, as though the walls had ears. In king's Landing, that phrase was more literal compared to other places such as Winterfell. "A powerful friend of mine has procured a way to get out of King's Landing and sail for Meereen. There you will meet with the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen," explained Arthur.

Jon's eyes widened in shock. "The Dragon Queen? Why would Sansa and I meet with the Daenerys Targaryen?" asked Jon.

"Because she is the one true Queen of Westeros, and she will need allies in the North if she hopes to conquer Westeros," said Arthur.

"Her dragons would be useful against the wights," said Jon thoughtfully.

"Maybe dragon fire can kill White Walkers as well," mused Arthur. Jon suddenly looked up at his uncle.

"You... you've been serving the Targaryen girl this whole time haven't you?" said Jon in realisation.

Arthur sighed. "I have," he said simply.

"And why do you want me to travel all the way to Essos with Sansa? To serve the family that burned my father and grandfather? Who kidnapped and raped my aunt?" growled Jon angrily.

"Rhaegar Targaryen did not kidnap Lyanna Stark!" yelled Arthur, to the surprise of Jon.

"What?" said Jon.

"Rhaegar and Lyanna loved each other in the beginning," said Arthur, quieter this time. He looked at Jon then with an odd expression then, one that Jon could not replace. "You should go see a maester Jon, before your cousin sees you."

Arthur then walked out of the training yard, leaving behind a very confused Jon.

oOoOoOo

Jon discovered that he really hated weddings. the ceremony in the sept of Baelor itself was pleasant enough, despite the King's cocky attitude, thought Jon had focussed on Sansa, who had stood beside him with a similar look of distaste.

It was the wedding feast afterwards that was held in the palace gardens that really ground on Jon. A bloody fifty course meal had been prepared for the event, something which irked Jon and several other important guests, even Tywin Lannister. While Joffrey laughed with his new bride, the smallfolk in King's Landing starved.

Jon stood guard around the edges of the wedding feast, patrolling the western side, which conveniently was closest to Sansa. Margaery had been a dear and placed Sansa furthest from Joffrey and the other Lannisters, right next to Lord Tyrion and Lady Olenna. So Jon kept one eye on his cousin, and the other on the outside of the party.

He spotted Lady Brienne speaking with Ser Jaime, and noticed the icy look Cersei was shooting the tall lady. When Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne parted ways, Cersei confronted Brienne. Jon could not hear what was spoken between the two, but clearly it had shaken Lady Brienne. So Jon decided to talk to the towering woman.

"Lady Brienne," said Jon with a bow.

"Ser Jon?" said Lady Brienne in surprise.

"You know who I am?" asked Jon.

"The whole of Westeros knows of the Hero of the Blackwater," said Lady Brienne. "And Ser Jaime spoke highly of you in our travels together."

"I see. So you were the one who returned the Kingslayer to King's Landing?" said Jon.

He noticed the way that Lady Brienne bristled at Ser Jaime's insult, but paid it no mind.

"I was," was all Lady Brienne said.

"I am surprised that he did so. The only other Lannister who speaks fondly of me is Lord Tyrion, oh and of course Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen," continued Jon. "Ser Jaime is... _was_ a formidable opponent in the training yard."

Jon's eyes locked on the golden appendage that had replaced Ser Jaime's right hand, and he felt pity for the knight.

"I trust you are enjoying the celebrations?" said Lady Brienne in an effort to change the conversation.

"No more than you are my lady," said Jon, and both knew that neither were having any fun.

Jon's eyes swept over the many guests invited to attend, but stopped when they locked onto a pair of kind, emerald eyes. Myrcella had been staring at him and she blushed when he caught her, but neither turned their gaze from the other. Jon offered a small, kind smile at the princess, one which she returned before her attention was drawn to Tommen's side.

Jon smiled a little more widely, having remembered Lord Tyrion's words about the Princess and Prince visiting Jon while he had been recovering from his injuries. Apparently Myrcella and Sansa had bickered on more than one occasion over whose turn it was to treat Jon's wounds, something which the young knight found hilarious.

He was broken from his thoughts when he heard loud pounding coming from the royal's table, and Jon's hand automatically reached for Longclaw, an action which was echoed by several other guards including Lady Brienne. He relaxed though when he only saw Joffrey hacking away at a massive tome, then remembered Lord Tyrion talking to him about a gift for Joffrey.

Joffrey was destroying the tome with a sword Jon had never seen before. It had a golden hilt and crossguard, with a ruby in the centre of the crossguard surrounded by the silver antlers and head of a stag. The blade itself was the traditional smoky grey with ripples running through it reminiscent of Valyrian steel. Where Joffrey got it, Jon had no idea.

"Thank you grandfather!" exclaimed Joffrey gleefully. "Wherever did you get the Valyrian steel?"

"A gift, your grace, from Ned Stark," said Lord Tywin.

 _Uncle Ned? But- oh,_ thought Jon. The blade was made from part of Uncle Ned's old greatsword Ice, Jon realised. He looked over at Sansa, who looked even more pale than normal.

"The bastards," hissed Jon angrily, his fingers flexing against the hilt of Longclaw. Beside him, Lady Brienne gave Jon an odd look which he ignored. He saw Sansa shaking her head at Jon, silently warning him to not do anything rash. myrcella too was staring at Jon with a worried look, so he decided to take a walk around his section of the perimeter to clear his head.

He spotted Arthur approaching him quickly, but Jon ignored him in favour of staring out into the bay. It was what he often did to calm himself if he was in a foul mood, and it often soothed his troubled heart.

"Jon!" called out Arthur.

"Yes uncle?" said Jon bitingly, and Arthur blanched a little. "Sorry, just seeing Lord Stark's sword desecrated like that angered me."

"Understandable," said Arthur, but I have something to tell you."

Jon gave Arthur his full attention now.

"In twenty minutes, somebody will create a distraction that will draw the attention of everyone. During that you will sneak Lady Sansa away from the party and back to the Keep. There, my friend will sneak you through the underground passageways that leads out to Flea Bottom, where you will board a boat marked with a green dragon. Board it, and the boat will take you and your cousin to Meereen," said Arthur quickly, and before Jon could reply, the knight unbuckled his sword belt and handed the sheathed Dawn to him.

"What?" said Jon loudly.

"Take it. It will help you convince the Dragon Queen to keep you and Lady Sansa alive," said Arthur urgently.

"But this is your's, I am not the Sword of the Morning!" exclaimed Jon, trying to push the sword back into Arthur's hands.

" _You_ are the Sword of the Morning now," said Arthur, forcing Jon to grab hold of the sword. "Give me your steel sword."

Jon numbly unbuckled his steel sword and handed it to Arthur, trading blades. He buckled Dawn to his waist and gave Arthur a curious look. Arthur reached into his sleeve and pulled out a letter sealed with the sigil of House Dayne. "Give this to Queen Daenerys," he said before he turned to leave.

"Arthur!" called back Jon.

"Yes Jon?" said Arthur, turning back to look at him.

"Why me?"

Arthur gave Jon a proud look. "Because you are my nephew, and I know you will succeed where others did not." And with those words, Arthur ran to wherever he was meant to be.

Jon stood there for a moment before he heard screaming coming from the reception, and he ran as fast as he could back to the feast. When he got there, he saw Cersei clutching Joffrey on the ground, and the king appeared to be choking on something, convulsing on the ground while several ladies screamed and others looked on in shock.

Several members of the Kingsguard, excluding Arthur were trying to help Joffrey, and Jon thought this might have been the distraction, so he searched for Sansa. But she wasn't where he thought she was supposed to be. _Where could she have gone?_

Jon ran over to where Sansa had been sitting, ignoring Lady Olenna as he sniffed around for her scent. His nose wasn't as good as a wolf's but he could still easily pick up the lemon and cinnamon smell that belonged to his cousin. He followed it at a quick pace, and once he was sure that nobody was looking, Jon transformed and sprinted after the smell.

It did not take him long to find Sansa, who was accompanied by a man Jon recognised as Ser Dontos. Growling, Jon sprinted and jumped right over the two fleeing individuals and snarled at the man.

"Jon no!" yelled Sansa. "He was helping us escape!"

Jon transformed and drew Longclaw. "He was helping _you_ escape! This was not a part of the plan!" he spat.

"What plan?" asked Sansa.

"My lady, we really must be going," urged Ser Dontos, but he froze when the tip of Longclaw touched his chin.

"Were you working with Ser Arthur?" demanded Jon.

"Ser Arthur? What- no! But I really must be taking Lady Sansa-" sputtered the man, but Jon yanked Sansa out of his grasp with his free hand and pulled her behind him.

"I will be taking my lady cousin with me," growled Jon menacingly and he backed away from Ser Dontos. He turned around after widening the gap and grabbed Sansa's hand, then led her back to the Keep.

"Jon, we're-"

"I know Sansa, but Arthur has given me orders, and Ser Dontos was not part of the plan," interrupted Jon.

"Ser Arthur?" asked Sansa.

"I know, I am confused as well, but he has given me a plan and I intend to follow it," said Jon. "With you," he added.

Sansa smiled and allowed Jon to lead the way. However, Jon heard footsteps coming their way and Jon looked back just in time to see Ser Dontos running towards them with a sword.

"Lady Sansa will be coming with me!" shouted the disgraced knight.

Jon pushed Sansa away and drew Longclaw, then parried Dontos' swing. The fat knight was pathetic and Jon was easily able to stop him from attacking, before he twisted around and sliced the back of Dontos' knees. Ser Dontos collapsed to the floor, screaming in pain, but Jon silenced him by cutting his head off.

Jon sheathed Longclaw smoothly and looked back at Sansa, who was staring at Ser Dontos' body with wide eyes.

"I am sorry you had to see that," said Jon.

Sansa shook her head. "Let's just go," she said briskly, so Jon led the way again, keeping Sansa's hand firm in his grasp.

Back in the Keep, Jon saw Lord Varys looking at them expectantly near a door.

"You came here quicker than I thought," commented Lord Varys.

"Joffrey was poisoned," said Sansa.

"Joffrey was poisoned?" exclaimed Varys.

"That was your plan was it not? That was the distraction?" said Jon, eyebrows furrowing together.

"No, our distraction was to have Ser Arthur set fire to a gazebo. Whoever poisoned the King was working alone," said Varys.

 _The same person who was behind taking Sansa,_ Jon realised.

"Come, we must be on our way before somebody finds us," said Varys and the Spider grabbed a torch before leading Jon and Sansa down a dark passageway. Unfortunately they were stopped yet again when they heard a very familiar voice calling out Jon's name.

Jon turned around to see Myrcella running towards them, her skirts billowing behind her. Jon barely had time to react before Myrcella launched herself at him and wrapped her's around Jon's neck tightly. She pulled away and Jon could see tears swimming in her eyes.

"You're escaping aren't you?" sniffed Myrcella.

"We have to Princess," said Jon. "People probably think that we killed your brother."

"Did you?" asked Myrcella.

"Of course not. Neither of us has the resources to poison the king," assured Jon.

Myrcella seemed to accept Jon's answer, because she pulled him into another tight hug. "Where will you go?" she asked into his ear, her breath sending tingles down Jon's spine.

"I cannot tell you, my Princess. But rest assured we will be safe," said Jon.

"You had better be," said Myrcella, and then she did something Jon never expected; she kissed him on the mouth. It was soft, full of emotion and totally surprising yet welcome, but before Jon could reciprocate the kiss, Myrcella pulled away with more tears in her eyes. "Be safe," she whispered and she let go of him.

"Come on Jon!" hissed Sansa, and Jon spared the princess one last look before he followed his cousin down into the passage.

The tunnels underneath the castle smelt of rot and death, and it irked Sansa just as badly it seemed. Lord Varys appeared unperturbed and kept walking at a brisk pace and Jon and Sansa struggled to keep up with the eunuch as he twisted and turned through the dank tunnels.

Lord Varys stopped at a wooden door and hung the torch he was holding. "Through here," he said.

"Why are you helping us?" asked Sansa. "Do you not serve the king?"

"I serve the realm, my lady," drawled Lord Varys before he opened the door and led the way. "As for why I am helping you, I think that is a question for another time."

Jon and Sansa found themselves outside of the Red Keep near the docks by the bay. As Arthur had promised, a ship with a green dragon emblazoned on the ship's sails awaited them.

"Thank you, my lord," said Jon earnestly.

Lord Varys bowed at he and Sansa. "Hurry now. The sailors will not ask questions and they have prepared a room for the two of you in the cabins." The Master of Whispers then turned around quickly and marched away, leaving Jon and Sansa alone with the ship.

"Come Sansa," said Jon, keeping a hold on Sansa's hand as he led them over to the awaiting ship. He had her be the first to climb the rungs up the ship, he following closely behind.

When both were up on the ship's deck, none of the sailors paid them any attention, but Jon heard the captain telling the crew to prepare to set sail. A small cabin boy came over and ushered them into the cabins, where a small room had been prepared for them.

Even as Jon and Sansa settled in and the ship sailed out of the bay, the bells of the great sept rang, heralding the death of their king.

oOoOoOo

"Is that Ser Arthur's sword?" asked Sansa during the second sennight since they had fled King's Landing.

Jon looked up from polishing Longclaw to see Sansa pointing at Dawn, still sheathed in its scabbard. He was surprised that Sansa hadn't noticed it before now, or maybe she had but did not say anything until now.

"Aye, it is," replied Jon before going back to his polishing.

"Did Ser Arthur give it to you?"

"He did."

"Why?"

Jon sighed and looked back at Sansa. "Because my uncle thought it would be a good way to convince Daenerys Targaryen that we come in peace," he said glumly. "Plus, I don't think he expected to be alive for him to choose an heir to the sword."

Sansa nodded, but her expression turned grave, but she said nothing as she went back to her embroidering. Silence descended on the cabin like a thick blanket, both either too busy in their work. Jon let the sound of the rag running down the blade of his beloved sword lull him into a small sense of peace. He could understand now why Uncle Ned did it so often before the heart tree in Winterfell. It allowed time for one to clear their thoughts and to think reasonably.

"For what it's worth, I think Ser Arthur chose a worthy heir to become the Sword of the Morning," said Sansa, breaking Jon from his meditation.

"I do not think that I am," disagreed Jon with a shake of his head as he placed Longclaw back in its scabbard and propped it up next to Dawn.

"I've seen you training Jon. You easily best most men you spar with without breaking a sweat. You're the only one who could last against Ser Arthur for more than 30 seconds after Ser Barristan left and Ser Jaime lost his hand. You are heralded a hero all throughout King's Landing. Everybody knows who you are and loves you for it," pushed Sansa.

"How do you know these things?" asked Jon in disbelief.

"A lady hears a lot when she learns how to play the Game," said Sansa.

"Is that what you plan to offer? Teaching the Dragon Queen how to play the game?" said Jon with a scoff.

"If it means that this new queen is better than Joffrey or even his father ever was, then yes, I plan to teach her," snapped Sansa. "And I would offer her an alliance with the North as the last remaining heir to Winterfell."

"Bran and Rickon are still alive," argued Jon.

"We don't know that. Ever since Bran went Beyond the Wall we haven't been able to get in contact with him, and Rickon is still too young to learn how to become a direwolf," said Sansa.

"Fuck," swore Jon, leaning back against the wall. When he heard the disapproving cluck of Sansa, he apologized for cursing.

"You'll probably join the Dragon Queen's war council, maybe even her Queensguard," continued Sansa.

"Nobody wants a bastard on their Queensguard, even if he is an appointed knight," grumbled Jon.

"It is my understanding that Essos is much like Dorne in that they care little for one's nature of birth," said Sansa. "perhaps she could even legitimize you as a Stark or even a Dayne."

Jon's eyes widened in horror. "I could not take your family's name. It would make me the heir to Winterfell when it rightfully belongs to you," he stammered.

"Winterfell belonged to Brandon Stark before the Mad King murdered him," retorted Sansa.

"Which Mad King?" said Jon, unable to help himself and he grinned.

Sansa glared at him for a moment before her own face cracked into a smile, then she started laughing. Jon joined with her and soon the two were almost rolling on the cabin floor, tears of mirth streaming down their faces. It had been a long time since they hard both laughed as heartily as they did now, yet neither seemed capable of stopping. Jon idly thought it must have been the stress of everything that had happened finally catching up to them.

When they calmed down enough, Sansa went back to her embroidery with a wide grin on her face. Jon smiled as well and leant back against the wall again, staring off at nowhere in particular. His eyes drifted to the direwolf pommel of Longclaw, and a thought came to his mind.

"Sansa?" he said questioningly.

"Yes Jon?" replied his cousin, not looking up from her work.

"How come you do not turn into a wolf? I do not think I can even recall the last time you did."

Sansa's hand paused, and Jon could hear her breath catch. The mood quickly changed, and Sansa sniffed loudly.

"I do not change because for years I thought being a monster was unladylike, that I would be ridiculed for having this power," she said quietly.

"But you're not a monster. It is merely a part of you," assured Jon.

"I know that now. But I just wanted to be like those Southern ladies for so long that I forgot who I really was. I was of the North," retorted Sansa.

"Can you even transform? I remember your father telling us that if you don't transform for a long time, you lose the ability to do so," said Jon.

"I can. I have done it in recent months. Well, once, just after the first time we were beaten by Joffrey."

"You did?" said Jon incredulously.

"You were unconscious at the time," Sansa reminded him.

"Oh," said Jon, earning a small giggle from Sansa.

After that, Jon went outside onto the deck with Longclaw to practice his sword work and help out around the ship. He did not want to be idle during the weeks sailing to Meereen, so he did all he could around the ship; learning from the sailors, speaking with the captain, cleaning the decks. He even offered sword lessons to some of the sailors who wanted to learn. Sansa helped out by fixing and repairing any damaged fabrics including clothes and sails, and even helped the cook improve the food offered.

It went much the same until at the turn of the moon, when the sailor sitting atop of the crow's nest loudly bellowed "MEEREEN!"

Jon was the first to sprint to the side of the deck to peer over the expanse of blue. Sure enough, Jon could see a massive pyramid stretching high into the sky, surrounded by smaller pyramids. A golden figure could be seen on top of the tallest pyramid, but it was covered in something black that billowed in the wind.

As the ship drew closer to Meereen, Jon realised that the black thing was actually a giant Targaryen banner, with the red three-headed dragon in the centre of the black background. It was an impressive sight, of Jon were to be honest with himself.

Knowing that Sansa would not want to miss out on witnessing their arrival, Jon went below deck to their cabins, and politely knocked on the closed door, when he heard the muffled assent of Sansa to enter, Jon pushed the door open to see Sansa's silhouette behind the dressing curtain. Jon averted his eyes away in embarrassment, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"We are approaching Meereen," he said quietly.

"Really?!" said Sansa excitedly, and Jon could hear her quickening her dressing. She rushed out from behind the curtain, her hair styled in a single Northern braid that trailed over her shoulder. She was wearing the dress she wore to Joffrey's wedding, the only item of clothing she had that was suitable to wear to a court. Jon himself wore his usual black leather armour, while strapping both Dawn and Longclaw to his waist.

"Shall we?" suggested Jon, offering his arm for Sansa to take. She did, and the two went up to the deck and watched as the great city came closer and closer.

The _Green Dragon_ docked on one of the piers, and Jon and Sansa said their farewells to the crew of the ship before they hopped off. They both had to walk to the back of the pier to the adjoining docks, where they were greeted by a group of soldiers wearing spiked caps, dark brown or black, sleeveless armour and a round shield and long spear. At the head of these soldiers stood a tall, brooding man wearing Westerosi armour and a longsword attached at the hip.

"Those are Unsullied," whispered Jon to Sansa, "the most disciplined military force in the known world."

"How do you know?" asked Sansa.

"Arthur told me that they're distinctive by the armour they wear and the spears," explained Jon. "Usually they're sold as slaves, and they're castrated as children."

"That's horrible," said Sansa, looking aghast at what Jon had said.

"It is," agreed Jon just as the Westerosi man stepped forward.

"Lady Sansa, Ser Jon. I welcome you to Meereen and extend the Queen's greeting," said the man, who was most definitely a knight and definitely did not look very welcoming. He looked familiar to Jon, though how he was not sure.

"I thank you and your Queen for the offer of hospitality Ser..." trailed off Sansa.

"Forgive me, my lady. I am Ser Jorah, Queensguard to Queen Daenerys Targaryen," said the knight.

"Ser Jorah Mormont?" said Jon in surprise.

"That be me, nephew and daughter of Eddard Stark," said Ser Jorah grimly. "I admit I bore your father ill will for forcing me to flee from my home, but what happened to him i would not wish on anybody.

"Come, the Queen does not like to be kept waiting," said Ser Jorah, and he turned around and walked away. Jon and Sansa shared a look before Jon transformed and encouraged Sansa onto his back. The Unsullied bristled at Jon's magic, but Ser Jorah waved them off.

The city was enormous, probably the same size or even larger than King's Landing by Jon's estimation. The streets were bustling with activity, though Jon noted with his wolf eyes that the people seemed much happier compared to the people in King's Landing under Joffrey's rule. Jon sincerely hoped that Tommen would be a much better king than his older brother.

Many people gasped and pointed at the beautiful redhead riding atop the giant wolf, for surely none of the former slaves and slavers had ever seen such a spectacle. The crowds parted so that the white wolf and squad of Unsullied could make their way to the great pyramid.

Jon could smell the stench of rotting flesh much earlier before he saw it. One hundred and sixty-three corpses crucified on the path leading up the entrance of the great pyramid.

"Oh gods," muttered Sansa in horror.

Jon whined in agreement, and Sansa petted the fur on the back of his neck consolingly. The bodies must have been hanging there for several days, if not weeks for them to be smelling that bad. The Unsullied appeared unfazed by it, but then again, nothing affected an Unsullied.

There were more eunuch guards waiting at the door, and at Ser Jorah's command, they opened it. Ser Jorah led the wolf and lady through several passages until they arrived in a large room with a dais much more impressive than the one in King's Landing. Jon spotted more Unsullied lining the walls, standing at attention. On top of the dais stood an elderly man who Jon instantly knew to be Ser Barristan Selmy. Jon felt relief to see one of his mentors alive and well, though he regretted the harsh words he had spoken to the old knight before his exile. On the opposite side of Ser Barristan stood a young, attractive woman with a darker complexion and frizzy hair. Next to her was another Unsullied warrior, though he wore no helm and carried no weapon or shield.

The woman sitting on the small throne was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman Jon had laid eyes upon. She looked rather short and petite, though her breasts were full and her waist wide. Her silvery-gold hair was spun in a complicated Essosi style, though much of it flowed down her back and shoulders. She wore a white gown that revealed a fair amount of cleavage, but that wasn't what drew Jon's attention. It was her eyes, a shade of violet much brighter than anything he had ever seen. They sparkled with intelligence and ruthlessness Jon had seen in Lord Tywin's eyes, but they were balanced by a large amount of kindness and curiosity.

Sansa dismounted from Jon and she dipped into a curtsey, while Jon transformed, earning several gasps from everyone in the room except for Ser Barristan, who had seen Jon turn before, and Sansa. The woman who was undoubtedly Daenerys Stormborn had a wide grin on her face and her eyes sparkled with wonder.

"So it is true, the Starks are more wolf than many people think," commented the queen in a rich, high voice.

"May I present Daenerys Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Lady Paramount of the Corwnlands, Princess of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen and Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea," declared the woman at Queen Daenerys' side.

"Your Grace," said Jon respectfully, bending on one knee.

"Rise, Starks of Winterfell," ordered the queen.

Jon and Sansa both rose and took a tentative step forward.

"I was tempted to have you both executed upon your arrival to Meereen, but Ser Barristan was able to convince me to at least hear you out," said Daenerys bluntly.

Jon glanced at Sansa uneasily. "We thank you for your compassion your grace," he said.

"Ser Jon. My loyal Queensguard tells me that you are the nephew of Ser Arthur Dayne, a knight loyal to House Targaryen," stated Daenerys, glaring coldly down at him, all trace of warmth and wonder gone.

"I am, your grace," said Jon. "I have his sword, Dawn, which I present unto you in offering of my services to you and your house."

"You have Ser Arthur's sword?" asked Ser Barristan.

"I do," said Jon, and he unsheathed the pale sword and held in up in offering. "Ser Arthur has secretly been loyal to you and your family since Robert's Rebellion, and has passed the mantle of the Sword of the Morning to me so that I may serve you as he once served your brother."

Many looked at the famous sword in awe, including the queen. "I also bring you a letter from Ser Arthur," added Jon, and he reached into his pockets for the letter his uncle had given him. Ser Barristan went down the dais and grabbed from Jon before going back up and handing it to Daenerys.

The queen broke the seal and unfurled the paper, which opened up into two pieces of parchment, and Jon saw her face change from curiosity, to shock, then fiery rage.

"Grey Worm, have this pretender executed," snarled Daenerys.

"What?" said Jon and Sansa at the same time. Even Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah looked shocked.

"Kill him!" shouted the queen, and the Unsullied soldiers mobilized.

However, they did not get far before Sansa roared and jumped forward. She was replaced with a giant wolf, nowhere near as large as Jon but still bigger than a horse, with red fur the colour of fire. The wolf's eyes blazed with a sapphire blue fire and she snarled in challenge.

The Unsullied hesitated, not sure on how to deal with a direwolf.

Jon was stunned for a moment by Sansa's sudden transformation, but he quickly snapped out of it and raced around her, raising both hands up, one towards Sansa and the other towards the approaching soldiers.

"Sansa stop!" shouted Jon. "Don't hurt her!" he said to the Unsullied.

"Your grace!" hissed Ser Barristan.

"Your grace, I do not why you suddenly decided to want me dead but I must ask why," said Jon placatingly.

"I do not have to explain anything to you, usurper," hissed Daenerys.

"Usurper?" said Jon, feeling confused. _What is going on?_

Even Sansa had paused, though she did not lower her stance nor shut her massive jaws that dripped with saliva.

"Khaleesi, you cannot kill a man simply because you ordered it," said Ser Jorah.

"I am the Queen," challenged Daenerys.

"That was the same excuse your father used when he burned people," retorted Ser Barristan. "Look at the seal, your grace. It was unbroken when it was delivered to you. Surely Ser Jon and his lady cousin deserve an answer."

Daenerys sighed, though the fire in her eyes did not diminish at all. "Because this letter claims Ser Jon to be the Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and therefore the rightful heir to the Iron Throne!" she said loudly.

Everyone froze. Daenerys' words seemed to have stunned everyone into silence, and the air was thick with tension. Jon himself was confused.

"Pardon me, your grace, but my father was Brandon Stark and my mother was Ashara Dayne," said Jon.

"Not according to this letter by Ser Arthur," hissed Daenerys, holding up the offending letter in the air.

"No, that cannot be. My father was a Stark, my mother was a Dayne," said Jon, shaking his head. _Why would Arthur say something like that._

Behind Jon, Sansa had frozen and was no longer baring her fangs at the Unsullied, her head cocked to the side in confusion.

"Your grace, Ser Jon. If I may," said Ser Barristan with a clearing of his throat.

Daenerys did not take her violet eyes off Jon as she nodded her acquiescence.

"Ser Arthur, Eddard Stark, Lord Howland Reed and myself are the only four who know of Ser Jon's true parentage," began the old knight. "We all know the story of how Prince Rhaegar crowned Lyanna Stark as his Queen of Love and Beauty and the war that followed, but none of you know that Rhaegar did not capture Lady Stark. She went with him willingly.

"The tourney was a farce so that Prince Rhaegar could gather all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms to plan a coup against the Mad King Aerys, yet it all went wrong. Lady Lyanna had run off with Prince Rhaegar, where they were wed before the Old Gods, and their marriage was consummated. When the Prince rode for the Trident, he left his pregnant wife in Dorne, under the care of Sers Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower and Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard.

"These three knights protected the new Princess right up until Lord Eddard came to the Tower of Joy following Rhaegar's defeat, looking for his sister and accompanied by six other men, including Lord Howland Reed. The battle was fierce, resulting in the deaths of all but Lord Eddard, Ser Dayne and Lord Howland. Before they could kill each other though, the battle was interrupted by the screams of a woman, and all three men rushed inside to help the dying Princess.

"She died bringing her only son into this world, but not before making the three men swear to protect the last living child of Rhaegar."

Jon felt like the world had collapsed all around him. It could not be true.

"No," said Jon, shaking his head which made his dark curls sway. "I am no Targaryen. I am the bastard son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne."

"Your grace..." began Ser Barristan, and it took Jon a moment for him to realise that the Bold was addressing him.

"No! I am the son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne!" shouted Jon angrily. "I am no raper's son!"

"Mind your tone Ser, that is my brother you speak of," snapped Daenerys.

"No, this cannot be," muttered Jon, still shaking his head is disbelief. He felt like he could not breathe. Something was stopping him. he felt Sansa nudge him in the back of his shoulder with her muzzle.

"This second piece is a birth certificate, from the Citadel," said Daenerys' handmaiden.

"What does it say?" asked Daenerys.

"It all but confirms Ser Barristan's tale. Ser Jon Snow is actually Jaeherys Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne," said the handmaiden.

"No!" bellowed Jon, his voice echoing through the cavernous room. "I am a bastard! A bastard Stark!"

"Jon," said Daenerys quietly, her voice and eyes much softer than before. "We could be family-"

"No!" roared Jon again, and without another word, he ran out of the hall, ignoring the calls for him to come back. He did not know the way properly, but he had studied the halls wile he and Sansa had been led inside, and he found the exit. Once outside, Jon transformed and howled in mourning. He ran down the path, ignoring the crucified slave masters, and kept running until he was outside of the city walls, met with a wide expanse of desert dunes.

He ran a little longer, then rested on top of one of the sand dunes. He stared at the great walls of Meereen, and let out a little whine. Jon could sense Sansa trying to push into his mind, but he angrily forced her presence away, wishing to be left alone in his thoughts.

How could Arthur lie to him? How could Uncle _Ned_ lie to him? Or were they telling the truth, and it was somebody else lying to him? Was somebody pulling the strings to sow dissent amongst all the realms of men? Then Jon remembered the letters, sealed with the sigil of House Dayne. Nobody but Arthur Dayne and whoever currently ruled Starfall could have access to that seal.

He felt unworthy of wielding Dawn. He was not a Dayne, or even a bastard. Everything Jon had built his life around had come crashing down in the space of a few short minutes, and he had no idea what to do about it. Was he a Targaryen, a Dayne or a Stark?

Jon could not ponder for long, because he saw the city gates open and a silver-blonde woman riding atop a red direwolf, flanked by two horsemen exit. Jon huffed angrily, blowing grains of sand with his breath. His blood-red eyes followed the odd company, until the queen said something that made the two horsemen halt at the base of the dune, while she and Sansa pressed onwards up the mound of sand.

"Your cousin is an excellent tracker," commented the queen once they were close enough.

Jon responded with another huff and he turned his head away. Sansa whined and tried to step closer, but Jon growled menacingly, warning her to keep her distance. Daenerys froze, her hands in the air in a gesture of peace, before taking a tentative step forward.

"You are a much larger wolf than Lady Sansa," said Daenerys, in an attempt to open up conversation. "When Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah talked of how the Starks were shape shifters, I did not believe them.

"Then again, I did birth three dragons," she added wryly.

Jon snorted and finally turned his head to look at the queen.

"I am sorry about how you discovered the truth of your heritage, Ser Jon," continued Daenerys. "To be quite truthful, I had thought I was the last Targaryen left, and I am still uncertain about you. You look nothing like a Targaryen."

Jon snorted at that, and Daenerys smiled. She nervously sat down next to Jon, and carefully ran her small hands through Jon's fur. He always liked it when somebody did that, it was comparable to a human receiving a massage for a wolf. He always loved it when somebody did it, and in the past had often pestered Sansa into doing it during their imprisonment in King's Landing.

"Have you ever seen dragons?" asked Daenerys. "Of course not, nobody has in centuries. They are only small at the moment, though they have grown a lot in the past few moons. They are definitely not as big as you or Lady Sansa, but I would like to introduce you to them, if it would please you.

Jon decided to not remain in silence, so he transformed back into a man, shocking the young queen. "Why would you want me to see the dragons?" he asked.

Daenerys blinked rapidly for a few seconds then shook her head. "Dragons are supposedly able to recognise one with the blood of Valyria. Perhaps if my dragons were more receptive of you, I would be more inclined to believe what has been revealed," she said.

"It is not a bad idea, your grace, but I myself am unsure of everything," said Jon gravely. "I have discovered that my whole life has been alive, and the only ones who can confirm this story are either dead or indisposed."

"Perfectly understandable," said Daenerys, "I offer up my household to you and your lady cousin for the night. But on the morrow you will accompany me to meet with my dragons."

Jon could recognise the order for what it was, and Jon nodded his agreement. Daenerys smiled, and she stood up.

"Your grace?" said Jon.

"Yes?" said Daenerys, turning back to look at Jon.

"I came here to serve you, but also to warn you. North of Westeros, there are things stirring, things that have the power to destroy all life.," said Jon grimly to convey his seriousness.

"Would you speak of them to me?" asked Daenerys.

"Not today. It would be better if your whole council were gathered to hear what I have to say," said Jon. "Would it be possible for such a thing to happen as soon as possible?"

"I will organize a council tomorrow, after I take you to see my dragons," said Daenerys, and she kept walking down the slope of the dunes.

Jon sighed and looked at Sansa, then he himself transformed.

 _Why would you not want the Throne?_ asked Sansa.

 _The Iron Throne destroys men,_ answered Jon vehemently.

 _But if you were king you could rally all Seven Kingdoms to fight against the Long Night,_ argued Sansa.

Jon trotted over next to her and pushed her shoulder gently with his head. _Perhaps, but the queen could do so just as easily._

 _The queen does not have the respect of the people in Westeros yet,_ Sansa pointed out as the two direwolves descended the sand dune to join the queen's company.

 _I think that was ruined the moment we fled King's Landing. No doubt Cersei and her father have been spreading lies about how we supposedly killed Joffrey,_ said Jon.

 _True. But some might herald us as heroes for assassinating the idiot, even if we did not do it,_ disagreed Sansa.

 _Who do you think killed him?_ asked Jon.

Sansa mentally sighed. _I do not know, neither do I really care. I just wish I had ripped his throat out myself._

 _You sound like Arya,_ joked Jon.

 _Shut it you,_ snapped Sansa, though the red wolf's face was contorted into the wolf equivalent of a grin. _I am sorry, by the way. It must be hard to find out something like that._

 _I'd rather not talk about it right now. I'm still wrapping my head around everything,_ said Jon sadly, and Sansa sent him a wave of reassurance through their connection.

 **Arthur**

"Where did your bastard nephew and his whore of a cousin?!" bellowed Ser Meryn, before he delivered a punch to Arthur's stomach.

Arthur winced and held his breath to stifle the gasp that threatened to erupt from his mouth, which only seemed to anger the disgrace of a knight. He had been locked up in one of the Black Cells after Joffrey's death when he set fire to one of the gazebos to allow Jon and Lady Sansa, and he had fought off several guards rather easily until he was convinced by lord Oberyn Martell to stand down. That proved to be a mistake, because the next thing Arthur knew, he was locked away in one of the Gods forsaken cells and being tortured for information. Information that he had but would never willingly give to the enemy of the family and child he swore to protect.

"Fucking traitor," spat Ser Meryn.

"I am not the one who beats girls and visits brothels, despite swearing a oath to forsake those things," coughed Arthur, and he smiled widely at Ser Meryn.

Meryn swore loudly and punched Arthur across the jaw, and he felt some of his teeth rattle.

"Where is your nephew?" said Meryn once again.

"King Jon has fled to gain an army. An army which will come and wipe you all out," declared Arthur, spitting at Meryn's feet. "He is my king from this day until his last day."

Ser Meryn did not seem to grasp Arthur's words, for he looked at him with narrowed eyes and his head titled slightly to the side.

"Who are you talking about?" said Meryn.

Arthur sighed. "Must I explain everything to everyone?" he mused aloud.

"You have been associating with the Kingslayer too much, his silver tongue is rubbing off on you."

"Still better company than you," retorted Arthur.

That earned him a punch in the gut.

"Are you going to tell me what you meant now?" growled Meryn.

"Of course not. If you could not understand it the first time, why bother explaining again?" retorted Arthur.

Meryn scowled, but he did not hurt Arthur again, instead going over to a wash basin to clean his bloodied hands.

 _Wherever you are Jon, be safe,_ thought Arthur just as the cell door opened to reveal the massive frame of a giant man.

 **Daenerys**

Daenerys led the procession consisting of herself, Jon, his cousin Sansa, Sers Barristan and Jorah, Grey Worm, Missandei and Daario to one of the smaller fighting pits in Meereen, where Rhaegal and Viserion were held. Thinking of her two smaller children made Dany think of Drogon, her largest and fiercest child who had disappeared without a trace, and it saddened her briefly.

The group were permitted entry by some Unsullied guards, who opened the door into the middle of the fighting pit. When they were in the direct centre of the pit, Daenerys ordered the group to stop.

" _Come, my children,"_ said Dany in High Valyrian. She saw Jon and Lady Sansa share an odd look with each other out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored it because the air was soon filled with the screeches of her two remaining dragons. Jon and Lady Sansa gasped at the sight of her children, twisting and turning in the air like dolphins in the water.

Dany called Rhaegal and Viserion down to the ground, and the two dragons responded immediately and landed directly in front of her. They were as big as small horses now and almost three times longer, though they were still smaller than Ser Jon and his cousin's wolf forms.

Jon and Sansa automatically drew back from the dragons in fear, but also something else Dany could not place, and it concerned her. Her supposed nephew seemed to be more wolf than dragon.

"Jon. Come meet my children," said Daenerys anyway, and she beckoned the solemn-faced knight closer. Jon's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, and he took a tentative step forward.

"This is Rhaegal," she continued, pointing to the slightly larger green dragon, "and this is Viserion."

Dany watched Jon's reactions intently, scanning for any sign of weakness. He seemed enthralled with the dragons, yet at the same time he seemed to be warring with himself. It was a similar reaction Dany had seen in others when they first met her dragons, yet there was also an underlying familiarity in Jon's eyes that she could see.

Viserion seemed to give Jon a once over before he turned his attention back to his mother, trying to gain her affections. Yet it was Rhaegal whose reaction stunned everyone, Dany included. The green dragon waddled right up to Jon, being clumsy on land, and stared straight into the man's eyes. Jon stiffened and Dany heard a hiss come from Lady Sansa, but Rhaegal merely cocked his head to the side and let out an inquisitive chirp.

Jon cautiously extended a hand towards Rhaegal, then looked at Dany, as if he were asking permission. Dany nodded her head, feeling overwhelming joy blossoming in her chest. Her dragons had never taken to a complete stranger so well their whole lives, yet here was Rhaegal, showing an unnatural interest to Jon, and this all but confirmed Jon's heritage to Dany.

Jon gently rested the palm of his hand atop of Rhaegal's head, and the dragon leant into the touch, eliciting a happy chirp that went straight to Dany's heart. Jon even seemed to be smiling and he moved his hand down to scratch Rhaegal's chin affectionately. Rhaegal let out another chirp before letting out a breath of fire, which enveloped Jon's body before he took off into the air.

Sansa shrieked, Missandei and Dany gasped, Ser Jorah swore. Yet their fears were unfounded, for Jon appeared completely fine and he grinned uncertainly, and it was then Dany's suspicions were confirmed.

Without thinking, Dany ran forward, causing Viserion to hiss in anger at being ignored, and she wrapped her arms around Jon's waist and hugged him tightly. She felt him stiffen at the contact, yet Dany paid it no mind, for she was truly, utterly happy. Jon Snow was truly Jaeherys Targaryen, the last surviving son of Rhaegar Targaryen.

"Welcome home, nephew," said Dany tearfully, and she smiled up at Jon. He returned the smile but said nothing, instead choosing to look over to his cousin uncertainly. Lady Sansa appeared happy at the revelation, yet her eyes appeared sad as well. Dany took note of that for future reference.

"Come, we must declare to Meereen that you have been found alive and well," said Dany, and she grabbed Jon by the hand before leading him and the others back to the great pyramid.

She sent out messages for her people to gather for her announcement upon their return to the pyramid, and within three hours after Jon's interaction with Rhaegal, crowds had gathered outside around the open dais.

" _Mhysa! Mhysa!"_ called out many voices in the gathered crowd. Being called their mother always warmed Dany's heart, and it gave her even more courage. However, before she could speak, Ser Jorah leant forward to address her quietly.

"You realise that Ser Jon has a stronger claim to the Iron Throne than you," he pointed out.

In truth, Daenerys had thought of that, yet she thought she had a good idea on how to fix that.

"Do not worry Ser, I have an idea," assured Dany before she stepped forward into the light, so that her people could see her. "Citizens of Meereen!" said Dany in a loud voice that carried over the crowds. "Today I come before you with glad tidings! For one who shares my blood has come to my side!"

There were hushed whispers amongst the gathered former slaves and slavers.

"Jon, step forward!" encouraged Dany, and Jon walked over to stand at her side, albeit looking extremely uncomfortable. _That will have to change,_ Dany thought.

"I present to you Prince Jon! From this day forth he shall be my co-ruler. He will rule at my side as an equal in all affairs of my kingdom!" continued Dany. "All hail Jaeherys of House Targaryen, the Sword of the Morning, the White Wolf, Hero of Blackwater, Prince of Dragonstone, Rhoynar, Andals and the First Men!"

"What the fuck," Dany heard Jon whisper, though it was drowned out by the roaring and cheering of the citizens of Meereen.

oOoOoOo

Jon was not sure if he was happy or sad that his true identity had been revealed. On the one hand he was no longer a bastard, and a prince (or king, depending on who you asked) and even had a dragon as a companion. On the other hand though, Jon felt as though he had lost a part of himself, a part that made him proud of being the nephew of Arthur Dayne, and a cousin of the Starks. He was still a cousin to the Starks of course, but somehow he felt even more distant to them.

Daenerys had publicly declared the return of her nephew in front of all the people of Meereen, and they had rejoiced in such a way that it shocked Jon. The people adored Daenerys, and since he was related to her, the people adored Jon. It reminded Jon some of when he led the defence of the Blackwater almost a year ago, yet this felt more genuine, more real.

After Daenerys' ("call me Dany, Jon," she had told him) announcement of the return of another Targaryen, she had called a council meeting in her solar so that Jon could warn them of the threat of the White Walkers.

Gathered for the council were Jon, Dany, Sansa (who would represent the North), Sers Barristan and Jorah, Grey Worm, Missandei and Daario. They all surrounded a table that showed a map of both Westeros and Essos in great detail. Sansa and Daenerys stood on either side of Jon.

"There are two of you here who already know of what I am about to speak of," began Jon, nodding towards Ser Barristan and Sansa. He was not sure if Ser Barristan believed him, but he knew Sansa trusted him explicitly.

"The Long Night," said Ser Barristan. The eastern members of this council looked at the Bold in confusion, as did Daenerys, but Ser Jorah openly scoffed.

"That old wives' tale? What of it?" said Ser Jorah.

"It is real," said Jon. "I have seen the Others and their army of the dead, and they march on the Wall as we speak."

"What is this 'Long Night,' and who are the Others?" asked Missandei.

"The Long Night is the story of the longest winter in Westeros' history," explained Sansa, "entire generations were born and died in the dark and cold, while the Others waged war on the living."

"The battle was won by the Last Hero, who drove the Others back into the Land of Always Winter, and Bran the Builder constructed the Wall by supposedly using magic and the enslavement of giants," added Ser Jorah. "At least, that is what the stories say."

"And these stories are proving to be true," said Jon. "I saw the White Walkers with my own eyes when Ser Arthur Dayne and myself were sent by the Usurper to investigate troubles that the Night's Watch were having. I saved the Lord Commander when two of his rangers rose from the dead and tried to kill him. Ser Arthur and myself later joined a ranging Beyond the Wall to treat with the wildlings, and we had come to a peace agreement with the King-Beyond-The-Wall, Mance Rayder.

"Mance Rayder's host of one hundred thousand wildlings had traveled to Hardhome, and we were preparing for our journey further South to the Wall when the Others came." Jon looked at each and every person gathered as he paused. "The Others are unlike anything you have ever fought against. You have fought against slavers, usurpers, knights and warriors who fought for different causes.

"The Others have only one cause: to destroy the realms of the living. Their servants, called wights are the bodies of those they have killed, risen from the dead to increase their armies. They are hard to kill. A sword will not cut them down, only maim them. Fire is the only thing that will permanently put a wight down."

"That is where the dragons come in," cut in Daario, though he was looking at Jon skeptically.

"Indeed," said Jon. "Dragon fire will decimate their forces, weaken them even. But it is the White Walkers, the wights' masters, that are the real threat. Fire does not affect them, at least not normal fire. The very air freezes around them, so you can feel them before you see them. They are taller, stronger and faster than any man, and normal steel cannot kill them for it freezes and shatters upon contact with their flesh or weapons of ice.

"There is a way to kill them," continued Jon when he saw the worried looks of those in attendance. "Dragonglass can kill them, and apparently there are scores of it buried underneath Dragonstone. Before the Usurpers death, he was considering the validity of this tale and had prepared miners to carve out the dragonglass and forge weapons from them.

"The only other way I know of to kill the Others is Valyrian steel." Jon drew Longclaw from its scabbard and laid it on the table. Ser Jorah whistled in appreciation of the blade, and Daario and Grey Worm looked at the sword curiously. "I know this because I killed a White Walker with this very blade during the Massacre of Hardhome. White Walkers did not know that Valyrian steel could kill them as well, because the one I killed looked just as surprised as me when our blades struck together. My unc- Ser Arthur's sword Dawn can kill them as well, because he killed a White Walker with it."

Jon drew Dawn as well and laid it on the table next to Longclaw.

"How common is Valyrian steel?" asked Dany.

"Extremely rare since the Doom of Valyria," answered Ser Barristan. "In Westeros alone their were an estimated two hundred Valyrian steel weapons, and a great many of those have been lost over time. Most of these weapons are owned by the different Houses across the Seven Kingdoms."

"If we could somehow convince the houses to give up their weapons against this coming threat..." mused Daenerys, trailing off slightly.

"Khaleesi, you cannot be seriously considering this," said Ser Jorah, while Daario nodded in agreement to the knight's skepticism.

"I trust the word of my nephew," said Dany.

"A nephew you did not know existed until yesterday," challenged Daario.

"If you do not trust my word Your Grace," said Jon, "then trust the word of Ser Arthur Dayne, for no other has served House Targaryen so faithfully, save perhaps Ser Barristan."

"You claim that he was with you when you journeyed to the North?" asked Dany.

"Yes, we fought side by side at Hardhome," answered Jon.

Dany seemed to be studying him for a long, tense moment, before she nodded her head. "The Starks are known for keeping their word and living by their honour, despite the bad blood between our families," said Dany. "I trust the word of the man who was raised by the most honourable of them all."

Dany's words brokered no word for argument, and that relieved Jon immensely.

"But their is still the matter of how to beat these White Walkers," continued Dany.

"Your dragons should deal with the wights easily enough, so long as they stay out of firing distance," said Jon. "Your armies could help in that as well."

"What of the White Walkers? Who would you recommend to combat them?" asked Daario.

"The best warriors in your army. The White Walkers fight better than anything I've ever seen, even Ser Arthur was injured fighting the one he killed, and he is supposedly the best warrior in the Seven Kingdoms," replied Jon.

"There is the matter of lack of Valyrian steel," said Sansa. Everybody turned to look at her. "If... _when_ Queen Daenerys conquers the Seven Kingdoms, we would have access to the dragonglass at Dragonstone, but dragonglass can get very brittle and would only be used once or twice before it breaks. You'd need more than just a few family heirlooms from some Houses that you aren't even sure would support your claim."

"She speaks the truth," said Ser Barristan. "There simply isn't enough, if we can judge the prince's words accurately."

Being called a prince embarrassed Jon, but he ignored it.

"There is one way we can get more Valyrian steel," said Ser Jorah, his arms crossed over his chest thoughtfully. Everybody turned to look at him.

Ser Jorah did not say anything as he stared at Dany.

"We go to Old Valyria," he said.


	6. Chapter 6- The Doom

**Chapter 6- The Doom**

Nobody spoke for a minute as they absorbed Ser Jorah's words, but when they did it was completely hostile.

"That land is cursed," hissed Missandei.

"The stone men inhabit those lands," protested Daario.

"Foolishness," said Ser Barristan.

"It has its merits," said Jon, and everybody stopped their arguing. "We know that there were scores of Valyrian weapons and even armour that were stored there before the Doom. If we could find all that and bring it back here, we would have enough to arm every warrior at our disposal. And while we are there, perhaps we could look for the recipe to recreate the steel."

"It is dangerous," protested Sansa.

"I would lead it," continued Jon.

"Absolutely not!" yelled Sansa and Dany at the same time.

"I just found you," said Dany.

"I will not lose you like I lost the rest of my family," added Sansa.

Jon was touched by the devotion the two women had for him, particularly from the one he barely knew. "It makes sense. I could turn into a wolf and carry some of the weapons. Greyscale does not affect animals like it does humans."

"We do not know if it would affect you because you are a human, even as a wolf!" snapped Sansa, glaring at Jon with so much anger and hurt.

"We don't know that it won't either!" argued Jon.

"You _will not_ needlessly endanger yourself," growled Sansa.

"It is not needless if this mission could save the world!"

"Enough!" barked Dany, clearly frustrated at the bickering cousins.

Jon and Sansa quieted, though their glares in each other's direction did not cool.

"I would need time to consider this," continued Dany, "I wish to be alone with my nephew for now, however."

Everyone except for Jon bowed respectfully at the two royals as they took their leave, but Sansa completely ignored Jon. He sighed and inwardly cursed the stubbornness that all Stark women seemed to possess.

"Lady Sansa is upset with you," commented Dany when the solar's door closed.

"She has every right to be. We have endured so much together and yet I am asking to abandon her with strangers while I embark on a journey I may never return from," replied Jon gravely as he grabbed a goblet and filled it with some wine.

"I am not so pleased that you wish to lead this expedition, should I approve of it," said Dany, folding her arms across her chest to show her displeasure.

"Both my uncles taught me that the best leaders are the one who lead from the front lines, not from the back," said Jon. "The smallfolk look up to you because you stood on the front when you laid waste to Astapor and Meereen. The people of King's Landing cheered my name because my uncle... Ser Arthur, I mean, and I fought alongside our soldiers during the Battle of the Blackwater.

"It shows that we are leaders who are willing to put our lives on the line for our people, and in turn they will want to do the same."

"You wish to travel to Old Valyria to gain the trust of the people?" asked Dany incredulously.

"Partly," admitted Jon. When Jon saw Dany stiffen slightly, he continued. "I do not wish to challenge your claim to the Iron Throne Dany. If anything, I would rather just return home to the North and be as far away from that seat as possible. But since the truth of my heritage has come out, I've realised that I cannot shirk my duties simply because I do not want to do it."

Jon put his goblet down on the table and walked outside to the balcony. Dany followed him and he leant forward on the railing, looking down over the city. "I also want to do this because I want to do my part to protect the world from the Others. I _will not_ stand by idly while others do so, knowing I can do something to help."

Dany laughed, a pleasant ringing in Jon's ears. "There's the Stark nobility Ser Jorah has told me so much about," she said, grinning widely.

Jon smiled as well. "So will you allow me to undertake this mission?" he asked.

Dany's smile faded slightly. "It is a difficult decision to make, but for now, I will acquiesce.

"There will be some terms I will want, however, and not just for this mission, but for your life as a member of House Targaryen," she continued, eyeing Jon sternly.

"Of course," agreed Jon.

"Firstly, you will have a Kingsguard who will shadow you at all times," said Dany. "I will have Ser Barristan appointed to you, since I already have Ser Jorah and Grey Worm, and you are already on good terms with the man."

Jon nodded his agreement. It wasn't such a terrible term to accept, and it could even give Jon a chance to apologize for his bad behaviour back in King's Landing so long ago.

"You will also not take unnecessary risks when you depart for Old Valyria, and at the first sign of danger, you fall back. No exceptions."

Jon accepted that term as well, albeit grudgingly.

"I also wish to name you my heir, should I pass before my time," continued Dany, then she paused, and looked almost stricken.

"What is it?" asked Jon, suddenly worried.

"I... I also need you to find a wife when we go home, and to produce an heir," said Dany in a small voice.

Jon straightened up then. "Why me?"

"I cannot bear children, I am barren," answered Dany.

 _How? Dany was younger than even he._ "How do you know?"

"I was cursed by a maegi during my time with the Dothraki," was all Daenerys said in response. "So I am counting on you to continue the Targaryen line."

Jon's heart went out to his aunt. He had seen the damage being barren could do to a woman. He recalled a time when one of the kitchen wenches in Winterfell had fallen pregnant several times, yet all had resulted in miscarriages. Jon did not know what to do to comfort his aunt, so he gently laid a calloused hand on Dany's bare shoulder. Dany's hand covered his own and she smiled at him in thanks.

"I accept these terms, your grace," swore Jon.

"Thank you Jon," said Dany sincerely. "Now, I would suggest you go and find your cousin. It would not be good to leave on bad terms."

Jon groaned, eliciting a laugh from Dany, but he obeyed anyway and went out in search of Sansa. He found her in her bedchambers that the queen had given her, sitting on a seat on the balcony overlooking the bay. He could not see her face, but he could smell the saltiness of tears.

"Sansa?" said Jon cautiously.

"Go away Jon," said Sansa, not turning away from where she was looking.

Jon ignored her and pulled up another chair to sit next to her.

"I said go away," growled Sansa.

"I am sorry about leaving you," said Jon.

"You are going on a suicide mission."

"I've been on suicide missions before."

"This is different."

"Different from the Blackwater, yes," concurred Jon. "Different from traveling Beyond the Wall? I would say that this is very similar to then."

"How?" snapped Sansa, finally turning to look at Jon. "You are going somewhere you may never return from, facing against monsters without conscience or mercy."

"The same as the Others. Though the stone men would be much easier to kill," said Jon, grinning slightly.

"Do not mock me," warned Sansa, her sapphire blue eyes narrowing dangerously.

"I'm sorry," mumbled Jon. "But I will return, I promise."

"You cannot promise that," said Sansa, her voice cracking slightly at the end.

Jon dipped his head, making his dark curls fall over his eyes. "No, I cannot. But it is a promise will try my hardest to keep." He looked up again, then cupped his hand under Sansa's chin and turned it so she was staring at him. "I am not abandoning you, just going away for a while. This is not King's Landing, and you will be able to make true friends here."

"I know Jon. I just... I just worry that we will be apart for too long, maybe forever," said Sansa sadly.

"We won't," promised Jon, and he leant forward and placed a kiss on Sansa's forehead. His lips tingled slightly at the contact as he pulled away, then he stood up, bid his cousin goodbye for the day and left.

oOoOoOo

The crowds called out Jon's name as he along with Ser Barristan and one hundred Unsullied soldiers sailed out of Slaver's Bay a week later. He looked behind him as _The Gentle Dragon_ sailed away, and spotted a wave of fire next to a wave of silver standing side by side. Jon grimaced and looked away from his aunt and cousin and walked to the front of the quarter deck.

Ser Barristan acknowledged Jon with a nod, while a ship's captain barked orders to the sailors. Below deck the Unsullied were fitted with armour that would encase their entire bodies, per Jon's request should they encounter stone men. Merely being touched by one would result in infection, and wearing as much as possible would prevent that.

"How are they?" asked Jon, nodding towards a group of Unsullied who stood watch over the deck of the ship.

"As mechanical as ever," said Ser Barristan, "but they will do their duty when we arrive in Old Valyria."

"Do you think this is mission is folly?"

Ser Barristan did not answer right away, which worried Jon a little. "I think that given how terrified you and Ser Arthur looked when you recounted to King Robert about the armies of the dead, I would say that this mission is necessary," Ser Barristan said slowly.

"Terrified?" asked Jon.

"Indeed your grace. I have never seen Ser Arthur scared in my life until that day. It was what caused Robert to even consider your tale," answered Ser Barristan.

Jon hadn't thought of that in all honesty, but he put it in the back of his mind for a later date. For now, he had more pressing matters to deal with.

"I am sorry," said Jon. Ser Barristan looked at him in confusion. "For the way I acted towards you and my uncle- Ser Arthur before you left." He really had to stop thinking of Arthur Dayne as his uncle.

"You were going through a very difficult time, your grace," said Ser Barristan. "I had wanted to apologize for not protecting you as I should have, knowing what I knew."

"You couldn't have done anything, I realise that now," soothed Jon. "If you had, you would have been breaking your vows to the king."

"I was breaking my vows by _not_ protecting you," pointed out Ser Barristan.

"Either way, you have been breaking one vow or another," said Jon solemnly.

Ser Barristan sighed. "While I do not regret having taking them, I have learned that you cannot uphold one vow without breaking another," he said.

"How so?" asked Jon.

"The Kingsguard are sworn to protect the royal family and safeguard the realms of men," explained Ser Barristan. "But what if the realm was a threat to the king? What if the king threatened the safety of the realm?"

Jon had no answer to that, but he did ask, "Is that the problem you faced when my grandfather was king?"

"Very much so," said Ser Barristan. "We were sworn to protect the royal family, but what could we do when Aerys raped and beat his sister-wife on a near daily basis? How could we prevent a war that would destroy the Seven Kingdoms when the king was the one stoking the fires? Nothing. The Kingsguard were stuck in a dangerous situation."

"Jaime Lannister decided to kill the King, and it brought an end to Robert's Rebellion," said Jon.

"Indeed," agreed Ser Barristan. "In doing so he saved the lives of tens of thousands in King's Landing, though he broke his vows to do so. Not that I could find fault in him for it, he did what he thought was right at the time."

"And yet he is still a quick-witted pain in the arse," grumbled Jon, and Ser Barristan chuckled at that.

"I cannot argue with that," chuckled Ser Barristan.

The trip to Old Valyria took over six days to complete, and for the first time Jon could see where his ancestors originated from. He could see the peaks of tall ruins above the dense fog and mossy, gnarled trees. Even further away, Jon could see a faint, red glow, where the Doom still wrought havoc on the middle of the Valyrian Peninsula. There was something truly foreboding about this place, Jon could feel it even though the ship was still a few miles out from the ruins. Maybe Missandei was right, maybe the land was cursed.

Jon had not seen Old Valyria when he and Sansa traveled from King's Landing to Meereen, as the ship had taken a route to completely avoid the place. And Jon could understand why now. His wolf instincts were on edge, and from here his enhanced nose could smell death and decay. He took a deep breath though, and steeled his nerves. They were here for a good reason.

He dropped down below deck to inspect his battalion of Unsullied. They were gearing up by strapping their armour on, sharpening swords and spears, grabbing their shields. They stood at attention though when they saw Jon. Jon looked to a former slave, Vimion, who now acted as Jon's translator.

"We are approaching Old Valyria," said Jon. "Have your weapons and bags ready."

Vimion translated for Jon, and the Unsullied acquiesced. They stood tall and followed Jon up to the deck, and watched patiently as the ruins came closer. Ser Barristan came over to stand beside Jon, clad head to toe in grey Kingsguard armour, and gave him a skeptical look.

"Are you sure about this?" asked the old Kingsguard from behind his steel grey helm.

"No. But what else can we do?" said Jon.

Ser Barristan had no answer to that.

Ten longboats were readied, large enough to carry ten men each. Jon and Ser Barristan sat in the lead longboat, and led the way through the thick fog. They landed on a gravelly shore that was overshadowed by a great, hulking mass of black stone that resembled a snarling dragon.

"Be swift be silent," ordered Jon quietly. "We are here to find Valyrian steel weapons and armour of any kind. If you see any stone men, do not engage unless forced to. Stick close to one another. Ser Barristan will take half of you and lead you North to scour for anything, while I will take the rest and move West."

Vimion repeated Jon's words in Valyrian, and the Unsullied nodded their heads and readied their spears, a determined gleam in their eyes. They marched through the ruins as quietly as they could, their eye never still as they scanned for Valyrian steel or stone men. Ser Barristan broke ranks with his men when they walked inside an abandoned courtyard and headed North, while Jon's men continued forward.

Jon transformed into his wolf form, to act as an alarm system of sorts. His enhanced sense would allow Jon to pick up approaching enemies from a lot further away compared to anyone else, and that could result in saved lives. He felt his skin underneath his fur crawl, and his hackles raised in warning. He could not shake the feeling that he was being watched, yet every time he turned around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He could, however, see signs that something big had moved through the ruins of old Valyria, knocking over buildings and enormous statues. Jon sincerely hoped they never met whatever it was that knocked them over.

His nose picked up some scents that crossed their paths on several occasions, but they were a few days old at the latest. the Unsullied would sneak into old houses in search for weapons and armour while Jon stood guard outside, and more often than not came up empty-handed, except for one soldier who found a Valyrian steel dagger that had a dragon tooth for a hilt. It was not a very big blade, but a weapon nonetheless.

They took a small break after nearly four hours of searching, and by then the sun had reached its height in the sky. Jon kept watch while his men ate, his ears moving like radar dishes as they scanned for any abnormal noise. The battalion quickly got back to work after their short break, and the Unsullied seemed more determined in finding Valyrian steel for their prince. Yet none was found.

After what seemed like forever, Jon was ready to give up and return to the boats, when and Unsullied warrior called out, "Darilaros!" which was Valyrian for 'prince,' Dany had told him.

Jon hurried over to a stone building with dragons carved into the walls, where some Unsullied had pried open a door and were peering through. Jon transformed so he could fit inside, and he almost gasped at the sight.

Valyrian steel weapons of every kind lined the walls on weapon racks, their smoky, ripple-patterned steel gleaming in what little light came through the doorway. Longswords, greatswords, broadswords, axes, daggers, Valyrian steel-tipped arrows, and even some arakhs were just some of the weapons Jon could see. In the corner, a full suit of Valyrian steel armour was perched on a mannequin.

"Seven Hells," muttered Jon. "Gather as much as you can."

The Unsullied followed his orders without argument, and unlatched the bags they carried. As quietly as they could, they pulled the weapons off the racks and benches, placing them in the bags reverently. Jon himself placed the armour into the bag he brought along, and slung a couple swords over his shoulder, hanging by their belts.

When the entire building was completely ransacked of weapons and armour, Jon ordered his soldiers to pile their bags over Jon as he transformed. He led the way back to the boats, which they found with no problem and began unloading the bags of weapons into the boats.

Jon heard footsteps approaching, and his hand quickly went the Longclaw's hilt, but he relaxed when he saw it was only Ser Barristan and his group of Unsullied. They too had bags slung over their shoulders, full of Valyrian steel. Ser Barristan himself was carrying a large bag in one hand.

"Where did you find those?" asked Jon.

"In a building about two miles North of where we split off. It must have been a barrack before the Doom," said Ser Barristan as he grabbed a longsword off out of his bag and inspected it reverently.

Jon walked over to the Kingsguard and smiled. "That should be yours," he said. The blade was slightly longer and thinner than Longclaw, but the pommel was encrusted with a sapphire and the crossguard in a shape of dragons' heads and coloured black.

"It is a fine weapon," commented Ser Barristan.

"Perhaps you should name it?" suggested Jon.

"Most swords are named after deeds they have performed," said Ser Barristan.

"Would this quest not be an excellent deed?" argued Jon.

Ser Barristan frowned. "Indeed," he agreed. He held the sword up into the air. "It is Pathfinder," he declared. "For we have found the path to saving the realms."

"A fitting name," said Jon. He turned to his Unsullied warriors. "Get moving, I do not want to be here longer than is needed."

"Did you encounter any resistance?" asked Ser Barristan.

"None, did you?" replied Jon.

"Unfortunately. Luckily it was only two stone men, and they were dead before they could make a sound," said Ser Barristan.

"That is-" Jon was cut off when something splashed into the water, followed by something, something _close,_ letting out a horrifying shriek of rage that did not sound entirely human. The Unsullied shifted into a defensive position almost reflexively around the others who were still packing the boats, and Jon drew Longclaw and peered into the fog, his eyes narrowing. Ser Barristan held Pathfinder as well as he faced behind Jon to look for whatever had fallen into the water.

He could see shapes forming in the mist, hunched over and menacing, and coming quickly.

"Form up!" shouted Jon, just as the first shape came out of the fog. Covered in torn rags, the stone man looked like he was carved out of rock, with his dark grey skin and lumps and scars like cracks. His eyes were wild and mad as he glared directly at Jon, and he let out a terrifying screech before charging directly at him.

The stone man did not get far before he was skewered through the chest by an Unsullied spear, by by the time he fell dozens more stone men charged from the fog.

The stone men were worse than rabid dogs, charging at the wall of spears without a care for their own lives. The Unsullied cut them down easily, but for every one stone man killed, two more took its place. Longclaw was soon wet with blood, that ran down the blade like a thick, red waterfall. Beside Jon, Ser Barristan used Pathfinder to devastating effect, cutting through stone men like a hot knife through butter.

More and more stone men kept coming though, despite their losses, and the Unsullied spear war was beginning to crack. one Unsullied was grabbed by the helm from a large stone man, and pulled into the group before he was torn apart limb from limb by the savage monsters. Jon felt bile rise up in his throat as he saw the stone men started eating at the Unsullied's torn flesh.

"Darilaros!" shouted Vimion from behind Jon. The prince turned around to look at the translator. "All the Valyrian steel has been put in the boats!"

"Retreat! Fall back to the boats!" yelled Jon as loudly as he could over the battle. Vimion translated and the Unsullied obeyed, backing away slowly into the river and hopping into the boats.

Jon decided to give his men some time and he transformed into the White Wolf, snarling viciously at his foes. Some of the stone men screamed in fright at the sight of the massive beast and backed away, but others were brave enough to challenge Jon. Those who did were quickly torn apart by the wolf's powerful jaws, and soon Jon's white muzzle was stained in blood.

Some stone men managed to get past Jon's fangs and grabbed hold of his side, then began to claw and bite at it. Most of Jon's thick fur got in the way and protected him from most of the attacks, but a lucky few managed to get in and cut through his thick flesh. Jon howled in pain and anger and he spun around, flinging the grey monsters off of him. He quickly made short work of them, then turned back to his other foes.

The ground suddenly shook beneath Jon's feet then, making rocks tumble from the ruins and startling both the wolf and the stone men. The stone men themselves screeched in horror and ran away as fast as their deformed bodies could take them, leaving Jon alone on the bank. A deep rumbling followed the shaking, reverberating through Jon's bones and filling him with a strange fear.

A light began to flit through the ruins, illuminating the fog and coming closer to Jon's location. Something, big, something _evil,_ was making its way towards them. Jon felt that he could not move as a great pair of flaming eyes, surrounded in shadow and flame, glared at him with a menace of the likes Jon had not seen since Hardhome. the ruins eroded away rapidly at its coming, cracking and crumpling to dust. Paralysing fear overcame Jon, locking his muscles together so tightly Jon felt as though they would snap from the pressure.

"Your grace! Come back!" roared Ser Barristan, and Jon was snapped from his paralysis. He did not even bother to spare the evil thing another look before he darted away, his long legs quickly closing the distance to the longboats. He leapt forward in a graceful arc, and plunged into the murky water, soaking his fur and cleansing the blood from his body. He paddled back to the nearest longboat, his huge paws acting as paddles that helped him swim easily through the water.

Jon transformed back into a human as he came closer to the boat, and the closest Unsullied pulled him up into the boat.

"Thank you," muttered Jon as another Unsullied handed him a warm coat to dry himself with. He decided then to look back, and the creature of shadow and flame stood on the bank. He could not make out its shape, being completely shrouded in the darkest of shadows, yet Jon could see that it was enormous, standing high above the ruins. It glowing eyes seemed to bore into Jon's very soul, and he quickly looked away, focussing on the water ahead of them.

Ser Barristan's boat pulled up beside Jon's and the old knight gave him a disapproving look that he could see even with the helm on. "What?" said Jon.

"You are not making my job very easy," said Ser Barristan as he pulled off his helm.

"I had to do something to hold them off," defended Jon.

"That does not include running into a pack of insane monsters," reprimanded Ser Barristan. "Neither does stopping to stare directly into the eyes of the Doom."

"Yeah but-"

"But nothing. You have soldiers who would gladly give their life for you."

"What sort of leader would I be if I didn't do the same for them?" retorted Jon.

Ser Barristan sighed. "You sound so much like your father," he said.

"Which one? The one who sired me or the one I thought was a Stark?" snapped Jon.

"Both," said Ser Barristan. "Lord Brandon was fiercely protective of those he cared about, which ended up being his downfall. Prince Rhaegar took risks to protect your mother, and fought on the front lines at the Trident."

"Which ended up getting him killed," finished Jon. So you are saying that I should not have my men's interests at heart?"

"I am saying that you should think before you act," said Ser Barristan.

Jon nodded in agreement, and the prince and Kingsguard fell silent for the remainder of the trip back. They were helped up onto the deck of _The Gentle Dragon,_ but stayed to help with the numerous bags of Valyrian steel.

"I want an inventory of all the Valyrian steel we acquired today as soon as possible," ordered Jon.

"It will be done, your grace," said Ser Barristan, placing his right fist over his heart and bowed, while his other hand clutched Pathfinder in a reverse grip, as it had no scabbard.

Jon nodded and went into his quarters, and sighed in content when he practically jumped on the bed after removing his sword belt and armour. He fell asleep soon after.

 **Myrcella**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" whispered Tommen nervously.

"Of course it is," said Myrcella. "Our mother and grandfather are hiding things from us, and you're the _king._ You should be privy to everything."

Tommen bit his bottom lip, but did not argue. The two youngest Baratheon children were hidden behind a false wall, covered with see-through drapes that led into the Hand's council chambers, and you could only see through them if you were on Myrcella and Tommen's side of them. For nearly two moons Myrcella had heard nothing of the outside world. Nothing of where Ser Arthur Dayne had disappeared to, nothing of the goings on at the Wall, nothing of Jon and Sansa's whereabouts.

The last Myrcella had heard of Jon, her mother had declared he and his cousin accomplices in their uncle Tyrion's assassination of Joffrey and a bounty had been placed on their heads. That information was straight after Joffrey's death. _So long ago..._

Myrcella's thoughts were interrupted when the Hand's door opened and in stepped grandfather Tywin, Mother, Lord Mace Tyrell, Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys. Lord Varys gave and almost imperceptible nod in their direction, and Myrcella swallowed thickly. It was the Spider who showed the Princess and her younger brother, the now-King, this secret entrance, and had encouraged them to use it, but this was the first time Myrcella had the courage to do so.

Grandfather Tywin sat at the head of the table, his expression as cold as ever. "Let us begin," he said, and the other lords and lady sat down.

"Preparations for the royal wedding are almost complete, my lord," said Lord Tyrell pompously, trying to sound more important than he really was.

"Excellent. Now, what of the-" began Tywin, but Mother interrupted.

"Can we please get on with the real issue?" Mother snapped impatiently. "What news of the Bastard and his whore of a cousin?"

Myrcella clenched her jaw in anger at her mother's choice of words.

Grandfather sent Cersei a withering look, but assented nonetheless. "Lord Varys?"

The Master of Whispers stepped forward. "I have word of their whereabouts, my lords and queen," he said in that silky voice of his.

"And?" demanded Mother as she reached for a cup of wine.

"They are in Meereen, under the care of the Mother of Dragons. But... my little birds have given some interesting reports," continued Varys.

"Go on," said Grandfather slowly.

"Ser Jon, he was not a bastard born out of wedlock by Lady Ashara Dayne. Nor was he sired by Brandon Stark," said Varys. "My birds learned that Ser Arthur gave Ser Jon a missive to Daenerys Targaryen, and in it revealed the man's true lineage."

Mother and the other lords except for Grandfather looked confused, but Grandfather's eyes widened in horror. "It cannot be," he whispered in shock.

"Ser Jon Snow is actually Prince Jaeherys Targaryen," said Varys.

Beside Myrcella, she felt Tommen stiffen, though at the same time his eyes her widened in happiness at the news of their friend. Mother spat out her wine all over Lord Tyrell, eliciting muttered curses as the Tyrell's expensive silks were stained in red wine.

"Impossible. Elia Martell was unable to bear another child for Rhaegar," scoffed Mother.

"You forget that Prince Jon can transform into a direwolf," reminded Varys. "What singular event started Robert's Rebellion?"

"WHAT?!" shrieked Mother, and Myrcella and Tommen jumped in fright. "The Wolf Bitch fucked Prince Rhaegar?!"

"They were wed before the Old Gods, and Prince Jon is the legitimate result of that union," confirmed Varys.

"Stop calling the bastard 'Prince'," hissed Mother.

Varys only smiled ruefully and bowed.

"This changes things," continued Mother.

"This changes nothing," retorted Grandfather.

"Of course it does. The Bastard of the North now has the strongest claim to the Iron Throne!" snapped Mother.

"That may be true, but he was a good friend of Tommen and Myrcella. And the boy always struck me as unambitious anyway. Perhaps he does not want the Iron Throne," argued Grandfather.

"That will not stop the Dragon Queen," retorted Mother. "She will want to see my children burned by her dragons. DRAGONS!"

"Your grace, if I may..." began Varys.

"You may not," hissed Mother.

"You may," countered Grandfather, ignoring the glare his daughter sent him.

"Prince Jon, despite his powers and renowned skill in battle, is a gentle soul. Perhaps he would convince the Dragon Queen to be more compassionate should they invade Westeros," suggested Varys.

"Would the Targaryen girl even accept Jon Snow as a blood relative?" asked Grandfather.

"Apparently she has welcomed him with open arms, my lord," said Varys. "According to my birds, her dragons have as well, all but confirming that Valyrian blood runs through his veins."

"The Bastard will want to see King's Landing burned for what we did to him and his cousin," said Mother. "He will be even more wroth if he discovers what we have done to Ser Arthur."

 _What?_ thought Myrcella.

"He would have if Joffrey was still King maybe," said Grandfather, "but he would probably be more lenient with Tommen as King."

"We should send the Targaryens Ser Arthur's head. Show them our strength," suggested Mother.

"Don't be stupid. You would not only incite the wrath of the Targaryens, but Dorne as well," growled Grandfather. "Dorne is already angry enough as it is with the death of Elia Martell, it would only grow if we killed their greatest warrior."

Cersei huffed angrily, but said nothing against it, because Tywin was right, as always. Myrcella decided that they had heard enough as the council went back to discussing the upcoming wedding, and dragged Tommen out of the secret entrance and away from the Tower of the Hand.

She went to her own rooms alone, and sank to the foot of her bed in tears. Jon was alive and well, but he was a Prince, a prince who was more than likely out for blood. For the millionth time, she cursed her brother, mother and grandfather's cruelty towards the Starks, while praying for Jon's safety.

She was startled and spun around quickly when she heard somebody clear their throat, and found Lord Varys giving her a sympathetic look.

"L-Lord Varys," she stuttered and dipped into a curtsey.

"I am no lord, Princess," said Varys with a small smile. "I trust that your eavesdropping was productive?"

"It was," said Myrcella.

"And what did you learn?"

"That Jon Snow is actually Jaeherys Targaryen, and has been reunited with his aunt across the Narrow Sea."

"Good, and what else have you learned?"

Myrcella took a deep breath. "He is preparing for war against the Seven Kingdoms," she answered shakily.

"We never said that," said Varys.

"But-"

"Your mother the Queen thought that was what he might do," interrupted Varys. "I personally believe that he will be too busy convincing his aunt of the supposed threat to the North."

"The Others?" asked Myrcella.

"Indeed," replied Varys, and he turned around to leave, but he paused. "If you have any letters you would want delivered to the Targaryen Prince, I would suggest you start writing, and come to me when you are ready."

"How will I find you?" said Myrcella.

Varys gave the princess a coy smile. "Who said anything about you finding me?"

He left Myrcella alone then, alone with her thoughts and fears for the knight... _prince_ that she cared so deeply for.

 **Jon**

Jon grinned widely as _The Gentle Dragon_ docked in Meereen's port and he saw both Daenerys and Sansa, along with the queen's guards and closest advisors waiting for them. He quickly made sure that the Valyrian steel was ready to be secured off the ship, then jumped down onto the dock, Ser Barristan close behind him.

He quickly walked over and gave a quick bow, the grin never leaving his face. Dany gave him an amused look.

"Had a productive voyage?' she asked.

"The best," said Jon, kissing her outstretched hand. He did the same to Sansa, and noticed the relieved look in her eyes. He gave her a bashful smile, before Dany ordered they head back to the great pyramid, where Jon and Ser Barristan could share their discovery.

"I see you've got yourself a fancy new sword Ser Barristan," said Daario lightly, pointing to the Ser's new Valyrian steel sword.

"There is plenty more where that came from," quipped the old knight. The others eyes widened in surprise at that, and Jon smirked victoriously.

Nothing more was spoken, though Sansa did fuss over Jon a little bit, until they were in the queen's solar.

"How did the expedition go?" Dany said as soon as her most trusted advisors were gathered around her table.

"Much better than we had hoped, your grace," said Jon. "We got what we came for, and stayed no longer than was necessary."

"We did meet some resistance however," said Ser Barristan, seeming to read Dany's mind as she opened her mouth to speak. "We lost three Unsullied, but considering where we were and what we were up against, it was a very small loss."

"How much Valyrian steel did you acquire?" asked Ser Jorah.

Jon pulled the roll of parchment from his doublet and handed it over to Dany. Dany unrolled the paper and scanned its contents, with Jorah and Missandei peering over her shoulder to read as well. Their eyes grew wider as they traveled down the length of paper, and the three were stunned into silence, not speaking a single word as Jorah handed the parchment over for Sansa and Daario to read.

"Two hundred and ten swords, fifty spears, almost a thousand arrows, twenty axes, thirty nine daggers, twelve arakhs, an _entire_ suit of armour?!" gasped Daario.

"one thousand, three hundred and forty pieces of Valyrian steel," counted off Jon.

"Well done nephew," said Dany, pride seeping into her voice. "You've acquire enough weapons to fit a whole army."

"Those numbers will grow once we conquer Westeros and enlist the other Houses with Valyrian steel," added Ser Barristan.

"With the amount of weapons we have at our disposal now, we might just stand a chance against the White Walkers," said Jon.

"And an army equipped with Valyrian steel would be frightening, even without dragons," mused Dany.

"Agreed," said Ser Jorah. "How will the weapons be dispensed amongst the troops?"

"I was thinking of giving the weapons to our army's best troops and commanders," said Jon. "The most skilled should be the ones trusted with wielding them, after all."

"I can agree with that idea. See to it Grey Worm," said Dany.

They discussed some other, more trivial matters of state and economy before Dany dismissed them, and Jon went with Sansa to catch up. They went to Jon's solar, which was the second largest room after Dany's solar, and Sansa wrapped her arms around Jon's neck tightly.

"I did not think you would come back," she confessed, tears in her eyes.

"I made a promise to you, did I not?" quipped Jon. Sansa let out a small laugh and smacked Jon's chest lightly.

"Aye, you did," laughed Sansa. She reached up then and tucked a strand of Jon's dark curls behind his ear, and Jon's smile grew.

"Tell me, what did you do while I was gone?" asked Jon as he led Sansa over to the table and poured them both a cup of wine.

"I mainly helped Queen Daenerys understand her people better, mostly those in King's Landing and the North," answered Sansa before she took a sip of her wine.

"Such as..." prompted Jon, feeling genuinely interested in Sansa's works.

"Oh, the different houses, who is married to who, which house hates which, different lords and ladies strengths, weaknesses and interests, that sort of thing," said Sansa.

"You would have done a fine job," said Jon, giving his younger cousin a fond smile.

"The queen is a good pupil," said Sansa modestly, blushing a little at Jon's praise.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, both occasionally sipping at their cups as they sat at the table.

"What is Old Valyria like?" asked Sansa.

"Terrifying," admitted Jon. "Do you remember when we first met Dany's dragons? Our wolf senses went crazy."

"Yes I do remember," said Sansa. "I felt torn between running away from them or killing them."

"It was exactly like that at Old Valyria, but far worse," said Jon. "Something more evil than stone men dwells within those ruins, I am just glad we did not encounter it. But it was watching us. The whole time I was there my instincts were screaming 'danger!' I have not felt that way since Hardhome."

"That sounds horrifying. I am glad we avoided the Smoking Sea when we first came here," said Sansa. "What were the ruins like though?"

"Ominous, yet still impressive," answered Jon. "Despite the decay, the structures still surpass that of anything we have seen in Westeros. Almost everything is dragon-themed, from what I could see beyond the fog anyway. In the far distance, you could see the Fourteen Fires still ravaging the peninsula."

"It sounds like something from Old Nan's stories," muttered Sansa.

"It _was_ something from Old Nan's stories," corrected Jon. "One of the more terrifying ones, I imagine." He paused then, not sure if he wanted to tell Sansa of the _other_ thing he saw. Sansa was the one who would get scared the most whenever Uncle Ned of Old Nan told them of the old tales of the First Men, the Others and the Doom of Valyria. Telling her of actually seeing the Doom itself, as Barristan had told him, would be sure to give her nightmares. Then again, Sansa had spent the past year and a half living a nightmare.

"There was something else," he said quietly.

"What?" asked Sansa.

"When we fought the stone men, something else came. Something bigger and far more evil," he said, so quietly that if Sansa was not a Stark wolf, she would not have heard. "It is almost impossible to describe. It was shrouded in shadow and flame, with eyes that blazed like fireballs. It filled me with such fear that I could not move, and if it weren't for the intervention of Ser Barristan I fear I may have been lost to the Doom forever."

Sansa gasped. "You saw the Doom?!" she hissed fearfully.

"I did not know that it had a physical form, only that it was a terrible natural disaster," said Jon. "Perhaps the magic that seeped all over Valyria molded the Doom into a monster of unimaginable power."

"Please, let's not talk of this. It is nothing but evil speak," pleaded Sansa.

Jon nodded his head, grateful that Sansa had asked him to not speak of what he saw. He then remembered something.

"Have you heard from Arya?" he said suddenly.

Sansa's smile slipped from her face and she shook her head. "Not at all. When was the last time you spoke to her?"

"The Twins," said Jon, and Sansa fell silent.

"Jon... that was a long time ago!" said Sansa urgently.

"I know that, but she's all but disappeared," replied Jon gravely.

"You don't think she's..." Sansa trailed off, tears forming in her sapphire blue eyes.

"No. She's not. I can feel her presence occasionally, just enough to know that she's alive and well," said Jon. "But I don't think she has transformed in a long time."

"She is on the run, probably as a human," said Sansa thoughtfully. "A direwolf would be too recognizable, even in the wild."

"She's a fighter. I'm sure wherever she is she's cutting Lannister throats everywhere she goes," jested Jon, but Sansa gave him a scathing look.

"She's just a girl!" she hissed.

"A girl who could turn into a wolf before you and I," countered Jon. "She's always been more Stark than the both of us combined, she got out of King's Landing when we couldn't."

"She's not as big a wolf as you," said Sansa.

"I don't think any wolf is as big as me," said Jon, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.

"I would have to agree with that. Not even Father or Robb were as bog as you," laughed Sansa.

 _What a weird conversation,_ thought Jon. _One second we're brooding or crying, and the next we're laughing._

It did not bother him though, for he and Sansa had rarely gotten a chance to talk in peace, even before King's Landing. When they were children, Sansa followed her mother's example and disapproval of allowing Brandon Stark's supposed bastard in the same room as his true born cousins. But pain and suffering had brought Jon and Sansa much closer together, for which he would always be grateful for.

They chatted a little more before Sansa took her leave. When she opened the door, Ser Barristan greeted her kindly before he took Sansa's place in Jon's solar.

"She seemed happy to see your safe return, your grace," commented Ser Barristan, standing tall and proud next to Jon.

"Aye, she is," agreed Jon. "Take a seat, Ser Barristan. It would be rude of me to not offer you a drink."

Ser Barristan looked uncomfortable for a moment, but he acquiesced and sat in the chair previously occupied by Sansa. Jon handed the Bold a cup filled with wine, which the knight gratefully accepted.

Jon gave Ser Barristan a queer look when the old knight chuckled lightly. "What is it?"

"Prince Rhaegal used to do the same with his Kingsguard knights as you just did with me. He would not allow there to be any bridges in our relationships, and often would ask of us to treat him as a friend or fellow knight. No formalities, no duties," explained Ser Barristan fondly.

"He seemed like a good man," said Jon.

"He was. Until the end," said Ser Barristan.

"Until the end?" repeated Jon, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Ser Barristan sighed. "Your father was a good man, and would have made a great king, but he had a small degree of the Targaryen madness. Not as bad as the Mad King, but enough that it made him obsessive over something that should have been treated carefully," he said.

"And what was it that my father obsessed over?" asked Jon.

"The Prince that was Promised," said Ser Barristan.

"I have heard of that," said Jon. "But it is just a story, is it not?"

"The way that Prince Rhaegar went on about it, one would think that it was as real as the Starks being shape shifters or the dragons of Valyria," replied Ser Barristan. "Your father was convinced that he needed his Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya to make the three heads of the dragon, who would win the War for the Dawn against the Others. Yet his wife Princess Elia Martell could not bear a third child, and it nearly drove Rhaegar mad."

"So my mother Lyanna was just a means to an end?" growled Jon.

"In a way, yes," answered Ser Barristan. "But he truly did love your mother, despite what history may say about him. Your mother ran away with him willingly, and they were married before the Old Gods. As far as I know, Lyanna Stark was willing to give Rhaegar his Visenya-"

"But he got Jaeherys instead," finished Jon bitterly.

Ser Barristan sighed. "Your grace..."

"Jon," interrupted the prince.

"Pardon?" asked the stunned knight.

"In private, you may address me as Jon. I am still getting used to this whole royalty thing," explained Jon.

"In that case, Barristan is fine," said the old knight, giving Jon a small smile behind his white beard.

"Barristan," echoed Jon, testing the name without his title on his tongue carefully.

"Excellent. Now, as I was saying, just because Rhaegar got a Jaeherys and not a Visenya does not mean your parents would have loved you any less. I only met your mother a few times, but she was a Stark through and through. Honourable, kind yet fierce and was extremely protective of her loved ones," continued Barristan.

Jon snorted. "That sounds more like Arya."

"Your other lady cousin? I must admit, when I first saw her, I thought she was Lyanna reborn," said Barristan with a chuckle.

"I have heard that about Arya from others as well," agreed Jon. "A wolf made human."

"Or a human made wolf," countered Barristan.

"Fair point."

Barristan chuckled and put his half-empty cup down, then stood up, clutching Pathfinder the same way he had for the past week. "I am afraid I must go back to my duties Jon," he said before walking away towards the door.

"Barristan?" Jon called out just before the Queensguard knight could disappear.

"Yes, your grace?" said Barristan, looking at Jon quizzically.

"I'll have someone make a new scabbard for your sword. It would not do to have one of the most famous knights in Westeros walking around like a green boy," said Jon with a smile.

"I would appreciate that very much, your grace."

 **Arthur**

Arthur squinted his eyes when the cell door opened, and it took him a while for his eyes to adjust before he could see who stood before him.

Imagine his surprise when he saw Ser Jaime standing over him with a grim look on his face. Behind him, Tyrion's sellsword knight Ser Bronn was looking at Arthur pityingly. Arthur hated it when people looked at him like that.

"Am I finally to be executed?" said Arthur dryly.

"Only if you lose," answered Jaime, and he reached down and helped Arthur up on his feet. He swayed a little, but he quickly found his strength and was able to stand on his own.

Arthur gave Jaime a strange look. "If I lose?" he asked.

"Lord Tyrion has asked that you stand as his champion," said Jaime.

"Champion? For what- oh." It dawned on Arthur then. "Your brother requested a trial by combat?!"

"He really did not want to be sent to the Wall," replied Jaime snidely.

Arthur could not help but snort at that. "I do not blame him. After what I saw there, I would choose trial by combat as well."

Jaime rolled his eyes as they followed Ser Bronn away from the Black Cells back up to the Red Keep. "You're still harping on about that?" he said impatiently.

"I speak the truth Jaime. The Others are real and they are _coming,"_ insisted Arthur angrily. His time in the Black Cells had made his normally calm, stoic demeanour change into a short fuze. While he had been tortured for the first few days since Jon and Lady Sansa's escape and Joffrey's murder, afterwards he was treated much better than most of the other occupants of the Black Cells. His food portions were much larger at least. And he did not spend his time sitting around idly waiting for his execution or whatever it was Lord Tywin had planned for him; instead, he exercised as regularly as he could, doing push ups, sit ups and anything else he could think of.

"I do believe you Arthur, really I do," said Jaime placatingly. "But right now, people think you are a mad man in league with the Targaryens."

"I _am_ in league with the Targaryens," said Arthur. "I have been ever since I was sworn as a Kingsguard under the Mad King, and will continue to serve King Jaeherys until my dying day."

"So it is true then. The bastard son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne is really the last true born heir of Rhaegar Targaryen," said Jaime thoughtfully. "I had heard the rumours around the court, but I did not fully believe them until now. Seven Hells, no wonder why Cersei is so on edge right now."

Hearing of Cersei's increasing paranoia amused Arthur, but he wanted to avoid that subject entirely. "When is the fight?" he asked.

"Two weeks from now," answered Jaime. "Tyrion and I requested that his champion be as fit as possible. Of course, Cersei wanted her champion to have as much advantage as possible, but by father is a sticker to the rules of combat."

"Except for when it comes to guest rights," seethed Arthur, and he saw Jaime stiffen.

"Okay, my father deserved that. But at least he is willing to give you a chance," conceded Jaime.

Arthur sighed heavily. "Who am I fighting?"

"Gregor Clegane."

"Seven Hells," swore Arthur. "And I have two weeks to get in good enough form to fight the Mountain?"

"The only real advantage he has over you is his strength and size," argued Jaime. "You are faster, smarter and definitely more skilled than the Mountain ever will be."

"I haven't held a blade in... wait, how long have I been imprisoned for exactly?" said Arthur, feeling extremely confused now.

"About a month and a half," answered Jaime.

"That is how long I have not held a blade for," continued Arthur glumly.

"A month and a half is not enough time to completely destroy something that is second nature to you," assured Jaime. "In two weeks, you will be as fit and strong as you were before you sent the King away."

Arthur looked up in surprise, his dark purple eyes glinting madly. "You accept Jon Targaryen as the rightful king of Westeros?"

Jaime sighed. "I do not know. I have always been loyal to my family first and foremost, but recent events have shaken my faith in them," he admitted. "Cersei no longer accepts me fully ever since I lost my sword hand, and my father is more concerned about securing the Lannister legacy than actually doing any good for the realm."

"But..." pressed Arthur.

"But Ser, I mean, King Jon is the _rightful_ ruler of Westeros, and I swore an oath to protect him."

That was good enough for Arthur for now, but right now he had to find himself two swords and a training yard. Jaime was quick to pick up on Arthur's anticipation, but insisted that he eat something decent first. Arthur relented and was taken up to the Kingsguard tower, where a meal consisting of roast venison and duck, along with some salads was already waiting.

Arthur made short work of the food before he practically demanded to be taken to the training yard. He was given two steel swords to practice with, and he quickly found a good pace which he could practice with. His skill and reflexes had diminished, but not as considerably as he had originally feared. He spied Cersei watching him from the balcony with a look that would frighten most people, but Arthur had seen far, far worse than a withering look from a self-entitled woman.

He had only just begun to work up a sweat against the dummies when he spotted Oberyn Martell coming his way with a spear and a smirk on his face. House Dayne was one of the strongest bannermen of House Martell of Dorne, and Arthur had spent much of his life with Oberyn, being of a similar age.

"I see that the Black Cells did not dull your skills," said Oberyn in his thick Dornish accent.

"It would take a lot more than a bleak cell to break me, despite the Lannisters best attempts," answered Arthur with a smirk as he shook the Red Viper's hand.

"The Lannisters are so full of themselves," spat Oberyn.

"What brings you here?" asked Arthur.

"Well, I heard that Dorne's greatest fighter was free, and I thought I would like to reunite with him," said Oberyn, but Arthur could hear the double message. _The clashing of steel will drown out anything we have to say._

Arthur nodded, and readied himself for a fight while Oberyn did the same with his spear. The danced around each other for a few minutes, simply testing each other for weaknesses. When they finally did come together to battle, the clash sent a loud ringing throughout the yard. They both fought impressively, but over a month of being locked away was starting to take its toll on Arthur. No amount of push ups could change that.

"You are a little slower than the last time we fought," remarked Oberyn, speaking for the first time since they started their sparring match.

"Time in the Black Cells will do that to a man, even me," replied Arthur, panting heavily.

"I want you to step down as Lord Tyrion's champion," said Oberyn, his dark, piercing eyes glancing around the training yard briefly.

"What? Why my lord?" asked Arthur.

"I wish to battle the Mountain myself, to avenge the death of my sister and her children," answered Oberyn, twirling away gracefully from Arthur's swing of his left sword.

"You are not the only one who lost something to the Mountain," said Arthur heavily.

"I am aware of that, but right now, you are the only one standing in my way of getting my revenge," snapped Oberyn.

Arthur sighed. As famous a warrior as Oberyn was, he was also impulsive and reckless when angry, which was something that Gregor Clegane would more than certainly exploit. When Arthur pointed that out to him, Oberyn sighed.

"You are right," conceded Oberyn, and he stopped fighting for a moment. "I have been so consumed by revenge these past twenty years that it is almost all I think about."

"The best way to beat the Mountain is with a sound mind," said Arthur. "I have that. Let me fight the Mountain, both for Lord Tyrion and for all of Dorne. You lost a sister, but Dorne also lost its princess."

"Of course, of course," said Oberyn. When the two clashed again, Oberyn leant forward and tucked a vial into Arthur's jerkin. "Coat your blades with it."

"What is it?" asked Arthur.

"Manticore venom. Even if you fall, as long as you cut the Mountain with it, he will die as well," said Oberyn.

Arthur blanched. "This is dishonourable. I cannot do that!" he protested.

"Please, Arthur. I beg of you," pleaded Oberyn.

Arthur sighed but shook his head. "I will think on it," was all he said, but it was enough for Oberyn.

The Red Viper pulled away and twirled his spear. "Thank you for the work out, Ser Arthur," said Oberyn, bowing respectfully. "But I find myself in need of... other forms of exercise."

Arthur smirked and shook his head. _The man sure loves his brothels,_ he thought.

oOoOoOo

Two weeks since he had been released from prison, Arthur was back in his old form. He had continued sparring with Oberyn, but also trained with Ser Bronn. The sellsword was definitely a good swordsman, and gave Arthur a good fight, yet once Arthur was fit as he was before, Ser Bronn was no match for him.

He now stood in the small arena, standing underneath the pavilion which had been set up to the side of the audience, where Lord Tywin, Queen cersei, Jaime and the rest of the small council, along with dozens of lords and ladies sat, eagerly waiting for the battle to commence.

The Mountain was already waiting, his huge form covered in black steel armour and holding a greatsword that was as long as Arthur was tall. Arthur's eyes did not leave his opponent as a squire helped him put his gold Kingsguard armour on. He slid his helm over his head, scowling angrily. _Curse Tyrion and his pride._

Oberyn and his paramour, Ellaria Sand, came over to Arthur then and offered their wishes of good luck, before Oberyn reached over to the table and grabbed the two swords that Arthur would be fighting the Mountain with.

"They are not Dawn, but they will do the trick," commented Oberyn. When he glanced over Arthur's should to peer at the Mountain, he added, "hopefully anyway."

"As long as it is sharp and well-forged, I'm not complaining," said Arthur, though truthfully he did miss his old sword. But he had given it to Jon, both as a means of persuading Daenerys Targaryen of the sincerity of Jon's allegiance, but also because he truly did think Jon was worthy of wielding the blade, regardless of if he was not truly his nephew.

Arthur took a deep breath before stepping out from under the pavilion, giving Lord Tyrion a small nod. Clegane made a show of drawing himself up to his true height in an effort to intimidate the smaller knight, but Arthur did not even flinch. He merely regarded the massive brute with a bored look before swinging both swords in a deadly dance before righting himself into an attack stance.

"Let the trial by combat begin," announced Lord Tywin.

The Mountain did not hesitate for a moment before charging straight at Arthur, but the former Sword of the Morning spun away from the enormous greatsword and shoved his shoulder into the Mountain's back, sending him stumbling.

Gregor roared angrily and swung his sword again, but Arthur parried it with his right sword while swinging his left one, smacking into the Mountain's shoulder plate. It struck with a loud clang, and Arthur heard the black knight wince, but he darted back to avoid the Mountain's lunge.

While he could see Gregor getting frustrated and impatient, Arthur felt calm and reassured as he danced around the Mountain's attempts to cut him down. He easily parried and avoided every attack, but other than the first strike, Arthur did not go on the offensive. He believed that the key to defeating such a large opponent was to wear him out completely. While the Mountain was indeed a formidable opponent, he was far from the brightest, preferring to use his size and rage to overpower his enemies rather than fight smart.

Arthur struck again, knocking the Mountain's helm from his head, the great piece of metal clanging on the stone floor. Arthur struck again, stabbing between a gap in the Mountain's shoulder plate and drawing blood. Gregor growled in pain and swung again, but Arthur parried the blow and twirled his right sword in a reverse grip, then jumped into the air and punched the Mountain straight in the nose with his fist.

The Mountain stumbled backwards and blood seeped from his now broken nose, then glared at Arthur menacingly. Arthur only smiled in amusement in response. Gregor let out a roar and brought his greatsword over head then down in an arc, and Arthur jumped out of the way of the blow.

The sword struck the stone so hard the blade became buried in it, and the Mountain foolishly tried to pry his weapon out of it. Arthur took advantage of that and sliced his opponent's achilles tendon on both legs, and the Mountain howled in agony while others cheered at the spectacle.

Arthur was caught off guard however, when the Mountain's fist suddenly came flying and struck him in the stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs despite the armour he wore with a loud "OOF!" and sending him flying backwards. He landed on his back, gasping for air, but was grateful that he had disabled the Mountain, because the monster was trying to crawl towards him. He could hear Cersei shrieking at the Mountain to get up, and saw Jaime looking at Arthur with a hopeful look, while Lord Tywin stared blankly at the fight.

Arthur slowly got up, only clutching one sword now, having lost the other one when he was punched, and charged at the Mountain. He struck again and agin with his remaining sword, and the Mountain did a good job at deflecting the blows with his forearms, but Arthur's speed was too much.

The sword sliced through Gregor's right wrist, cutting the hand clean off in a shower of blood that coated Arthur's golden armour, and the Mountain roared. Arthur then buried the sword in the Mountain's gut, but when he could not pull the blade out, he abandoned it and went over to grab his other sword.

When he turned around to face his enemy, the Mountain was staring at his missing appendage while clutching the sword in his stomach with his remaining hand.

"For Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys," murmured Arthur, before swinging the sword at Gregor's neck.

The steel did not cut all the way through and buried halfway in his tree trunk of a neck, but Arthur spun around, still holding the sword, and the momentum severed the Mountain's head clean off. The head fell to the ground with a loud thud, and Arthur reached down to pick it up.

Blood dripped out of the wound like a waterfall, while more spurted out of the stump of Gregor's still-kneeling form like a geyser. Arthur walked forward before tossing the head of his opponent at the foot of the stands.

"Lord Tyrion has been found innocent of his crimes in the eyes of the Seven," declared Arthur for all to hear. "As such, all charges shall be dropped and no harm will come to him."

Cersei looked as though she was about to object to that, but one look from her father stopped her. Tywin himself looked just as angry, yet he acquiesced nonetheless.

"Very well. Lord Tyrion, you shall be escorted back to your chambers," said Lord Tywin, and a guard of Lannister soldiers came forward.

"With all due respect, Lord Hand, I would like to accompany Lord Tyrion," said Oberyn, eyeing the Lannister guards distrustfully. Ellaria too looked sourly at Lord Tywin, and Arthur felt proud of his old friend and paramour.

"Of course," ground out Lord Tywin, then looked back at Arthur. "Ser Arthur of House Dayne, despite acting as Lord Tyrion's champion, you are still guilty of conspiring against King Tommen of House Baratheon, and as such will be escorted back to the Black Cells to await your fate."

"Or course, Lord Hand," said Arthur, bowing politely and dropping his sword to the ground. Oberyn walked up to Arthur and embraced him tightly, as a brother would his siblings. "Get Lord Tyrion out of King's Landing," whispered Arthur into Oberyn's ear. "Send him across the Narrow Sea to Daenerys and Jaeherys Targaryen. He will be a great asset to them."

Oberyn pulled away from Arthur and nodded slightly, enough that the Lannisters could not see it. Arthur then turned around to face his escort, and kept his head up as he was led back to the Black Cells.

 _A/N- The living personification of the Doom was inspired by the Balrog of Moria in Lord of the Rings, but it will more than likely be the last we see of it. Also, Arthur's execution of The Mountain is based on one of the executions seen in the video game For honor, performed by the Warden class._


	7. Chapter 7- Divided

_A/N- A great many of my reviewers are hoping for a Jon/Myrcella story. While that might certainly happen I recommend you read the author's notes in the very first chapter._

 **Chapter 7- Divided**

 **Tormund**

"The nights are getting fucking colder," grumbled Ygritte, as she sat by the fire sharpening her arrow heads.

"Aye, but compared to Beyond the Wall, this is a hot summer's day," said Val, grinning up at the younger redheaded woman.

Tormund snorted and brought his horn of goat's milk to his mouth a sculled a large mouthful, half of it dripping down into his thick, red beard. For almost two years the surviving Free Folk had dwelt in the lands the kneelers called The Gift, and in that time they had neither prospered nor suffered. Since Jon Snow's disappearance from Westeros with his cousin, a cold chill of both the literal and figurative sense had fallen over the Free Folk.

Jon Snow and his knight of an uncle were the last hope Tormund's people had of staying South of the Wall, and since neither had been seen or heard of in months, a fear that the Southern kings would force the Free Folk back to the lands now ruled by the dead.

Raids had grown more frequent as well. Men on horses with steel swords and armour would attack in the night, burning any huts the Free Folk had erected and cutting down anyone in their path. Tormund and the other clan elders had wanted to retaliate, yet Mance was hesitant, believing that if the Free Folk took up arms it would give the kneelers an excuse to drive them away.

"Any word from Jon Snow?" asked Ygritte. She asked that every day, and if Tormund didn't know any better he would think that Ygritte had taken a fancy for Lord Snow. The thought brought a smirk to Tormund's face.

"No," answered Dalla, Mance's wife and Val's sister. She adjusted the babe in her arms before speaking again. "Our skinchangers in their capital have not seen him, but we have _heard_ some things."

At this, everyone straightened up. Even Wun Wun, the giant who sat away from the fires and shrouded in shadow, looked interested.

"What is it?" asked Tormund.

"They say he is across the sea to the East, treating with a young queen who can control dragons," said Dalla.

Val snorted. "There have been no dragons for over a century," she scoffed.

"That is not all we have learned," pressed Dalla, ignoring her older sister's remark. "They say that he is actually a prince, and the one true king of Westeros."

Tormund spat his drink out and looked at Dalla incredulously. "Jon Snow? A king?"

"Aye, that is what I have heard," affirmed Dalla, smirking at Tormund smugly.

"I don't believe it," muttered Ygritte, looking as stunned as Tormund felt.

There was silence that enveloped around the fire, other than the sound of the wind whistling gently. Snow flakes began to fall from the sky, little flecks of white that melted into nothingness if they got too close to the fire.

"Well," said Tormund, breaking the silence. "At least we now know why he's so pretty."

The Free Folk gathered round the fire roared with laughter, slapping their knees and wiping tears from their eyes. Even Mance, who had been silent all night as he sat next to his wife, chuckled a little at Tormund's jest.

"It is good. Jon Snow is a friend of the Free Folk. That we can all agree upon. If he were to return to Westeros with an army and dragons, the lions and stags will fall," said the Free Folk King.

"I hope the dragons roast those fuckers," spat Val.

"I wouldn't mind sticking a few arrows in a couple of-" Ygritte's taunt was cut off by the sound of screams and horses whinnying in fright.

Tormund stood up from the log he sat on and drew both of his short swords, and he saw a great fire. Free Folk men and women were running in all directions, screaming and calling for loved ones. Armoured men in horses, Bolton men, Tormund realised, rode on their horses, slashing and hacking with their swords and lances at anyone who got too close to them. He saw Varamyr Sixskins fall from an arrow to the eye, saw old Fingers get trampled by a horse, and countless others Tormund considered a friend.

Mance was shouting orders to anyone who could hear while ushering Dalla and their babe away from the fighting. Tormund spotted a rider coming towards the King Beyond the Wall fast, and he let out a cry to warn Mance, but it was not enough. The rider swung the sword he held through the air, and Tormund watched in horror as Mance's head flew through the air, spinning like a ball while blood spurted out of the severed neck, flowing through the air like a ribbon of red. Mance's head fell to the hard ground at Tormund's feet, and Mance's dark eyes rolled up to the back of its sockets as the life drained out of it.

Tormund let out a great roar in rage and went to charge at the murderous bastards, but he was suddenly knocked to the side when another horse appeared out of nowhere.

Tormund fell to the ground, and he struck the side of his head against a rock hard enough that he saw stars. He could feel blood dripping down his face, and he felt dizzy and tired suddenly.

Tormund vaguely heard a giant roaring in the distance before darkness claimed him.

 **Jon**

 _Jon was soaring through the air, high over Meereen, the moon's light illuminating the dark city below, although Jon's eyes could see in the night. Beside him, Viserion let out a shriek of defiance at the world, while Jon himself let out a fireball that he flew right through. The fire felt pleasant against his skin, like the soft caress of a woman's fingers. Not that he had ever felt that, being raised a bastard and all._

 _He angled his body towards the Skahazdan River, then landed on his feet, Viserion joining his side. He felt slightly awkward moving on the ground, but his throat was parched and he needed a drink. When he looked down at the water, he saw a green, horned, reptilian head staring back at him._

Jon woke up then, confused at the dream. He had had several similar dreams since he had returned from Old Valyria, where he was inside Rhaegal and either flying high over Meereen or hunting and roasting animals to eat.

He looked out the window of his room, a gentle warm breeze blowing through his bedchambers. The moon was in the exact position it had been in when he had dreamt of being Rhaegal, which only served to confuse Jon more. _It was only a dream, wasn't it?_

Jon lay back and tried to fall asleep again, but it was useless. He was already up, and it was impossible to fall asleep in the hot Essosi weather. Jon thought he would have acclimatized by now after having spent so long in King's Landing, but apparently he was more Northern than Targaryen.

Groaning, Jon jumped out of bed, grabbed an undershirt, as he had been wearing none before and tied his hair to the back of his head with a leather cord, which was something he had been doing more and more often. Sansa had stated that she liked it when his hair was tied back, as it apparently it brought out his dark grey eyes more, and Missandei had agreed, while Dany preferred it when his dark curls were free, hanging all the way down past his chin.

Jon really did not care, so long as his hair was kept out of the way of the blistering heat. _I'm a fucking dragon, and I'm practically boiling in this heat._

Jon buckled Longclaw's belt around his waist, completely ignoring Dawn and crossed his room grumpily and threw open his door. Ser Barristan stood outside, as dutiful a guard as ever, and Jon acknowledged him with a curt nod before walking through the halls. He could sense Ser Barristan following not far behind him as he wandered through the many halls of the great pyramid of Meereen.

After many long minutes of walking aimlessly, Jon found himself standing outside of Dany's bedchamber doors. He hesitated for a moment. Would his aunt be awake? Or would she be looking over her papers or in a discussion with one of her advisors?

He knocked anyway, and behind the door, he heard a gasp and a cry of surprise. Jon's eyes widened in surprise and he quickly barged into the bedchambers, drawing Longclaw with Ser Barristan at his side. What he saw shocked him completely.

Dany was in her bed, completely naked, with Daario laying next to her. Both their bodies were tangled in the sheets and each other's legs. Dany shrieked and ducked under her blankets, and the movement pushed Daario right off, and he disappeared behind the bed with a loud _thunk_ and a grunt of pain. The smell of sex and sweat polluted the air, making Jon feel extremely uncomfortable.

Jon quickly averted his eyes, feeling his face heat up. Ser Barristan too had looked away to preserve the queen's modesty, but he looked more annoyed than embarrassed.

"What are you doing here?!" shouted Dany.

"I-I..." stuttered Jon, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Ser Barristan?!" hissed the Mother of Dragons, her violet eyes burning into both of them as she clutched her blanket over her chest. Daario appeared from behind the bed, looking a little dazed from the fall, but he had a smirk on his face that made Jon want to punch him.

"Uh..." Apparently the famed knight was also too stunned to speak.

"I-I heard a gasp from inside your room when I was walking past, and i thought you were being attacked," said Jon quickly when his aunt looked about ready to feed both he and Ser Barristan to the dragons.

"My bedchambers are completely soundproof," snapped Dany.

"I have wolf ears," explained Jon.

"Oh," said Dany, her foul mood fizzling out quickly. "Well, I am fine, thank you very much."

Daario snorted. "I can attest to that," he said wryly.

"Enough," commanded Dany, glaring at the sellsword captain. "Leave, all of you except for Prince Jon."

Ser Barristan bowed and went outside, while Daario scrambled to get his clothes on before rushing out after the old knight. Jon continued to stare at the floor in embarrassment, feeling ashamed at having intruded on his aunt's private moment.

"Are you not going to look at me?" Dany finally asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between the two of them.

"I-I shouldn't," mumbled Jon. "You are immodest."

"Oh please Jon," scoffed Dany, and Jon could hear her moving around her chambers, and the rustling of fabrics. "It's not like you haven't seen a naked woman before." When Jon did not answer, she quirked an eyebrow. "Have you?"

"Once," said Jon, so quietly he wasn't sure if Dany had heard him. "I was convinced to come to one of the brothels in Wintertown with Theon Greyjoy," his hands clenched at his sides at the memory of the man who burned Winterfell, "because apparently I would only become a man if I bedded a woman. I did not stay to bed one of the whores, but long enough that I saw a woman with no clothes."

If it was even possible, Jon felt his face turn even redder. Meanwhile Dany chuckled at her nephew's embarrassment.

"So you are a maid," commented Dany.

"You say that like it is a bad thing," said Jon accusingly.

"I am modest now," said Dany, and when Jon finally looked up, she was wearing something that _still_ showed too much skin. "And I didn't mean it to sound like that."

"I know," grunted Jon. _Why are we talking about my virginity again?_

"There are plenty of women in Meereen that would be more than willing to help you," suggested Dany, but Jon shook his head.

"They would not be the right one," answered Jon.

"You have a woman back home?" asked Dany, looking genuinely curious.

"No. Yes- I mean, I don't know," said Jon, having thought of Myrcella, but for some reason she was not the one he wanted. In fact, Jon wasn't sure if there _was_ a woman he wanted.

"Maybe the when we find you a woman back in Westeros, you can see if she is the one," mused Dany, giving Jon one of those smiles that could light up an entire room.

"Maybe," repeated Jon. He made eye contact with Dany and bowed. "I apologize for interrupting your... recreational activities, your grace. By your leave, I will return to my own quarters now."

Dany smirked before giving her assent, and Jon walked out of there as fast as he could without trying to be rude. As he made his way back to his chambers, Jon shivered. He did _not_ want to ever have to see something like that ever again.

oOoOoOo

"Can I ask you something Jon?" said Sansa nervously, clutching her handkerchief tightly in one hand, her needle in the other.

Jon and Sansa had made it a habit since coming to Meereen to take some time off every day to meet in either one's solar, where Sansa would embroider a pattern onto a dress or stitch a new piece of clothing together while Jon would polish Longclaw and Dawn. They would not talk much, merely being content to spend time in each other's company.

Today, however, Dany and Missandei had decided to join them, as Sansa had previously offered the Queen and her handmaiden to teach them how to wield a needle, which the two women happily accepted.

Jon looked up from Dawn to see the same nervousness on her face that was in her voice. Dany and Missandei too had stopped their stitching to watch the exchange curiously.

"Of course," said Jon.

"Well, I was wondering if you could..." Sansa trailed off and ducked her head to hide her reddening cheeks.

"If I could what?" prompted Jon, leaning down so he could look her in the eyes.

"Ifyoucouldteachmehowtofight," she said so quickly Jon wasn't sure he heard her right.

"What?" asked Jon.

Sansa sighed and lifted her head up. "I was wondering if you could teach me how to fight," she said much slower this time, and it surprised him.

"You want to learn how to fight?" said Jon.

"Yes," affirmed Sansa, her voice completely different from the timid voice she had used mere moments before. It was hard as steel, cold as ice.

"W-Why?" stammered Jon, having completely forgotten about the pale sword that lay in his hands.

"Because..." Sansa hesitated, her eyes darting over to Dany and Missandei, who were both pretending to not be paying attention to the conversation between her and Jon. "Because I am tired of feeling helpless," was all she said.

Jon's heart twanged in sympathy. "You are not helpless," he assured Sansa.

"Yes I am," she insisted.

"If it weren't for you, I would have been dead a hundred times over," said Jon, and he ignored the angry look that came over Dany's face and her cursing the Lannisters.

"You don't know that," snapped Sansa.

"Yes, I do," insisted Jon. He reached over and grabbed Sansa's hand, the hard callouses covering her much softer hand. "If you didn't insist on sparing my life all those times Joffrey beat me, if you were not the one who whipped me, I would have been killed just like Lord Eddard."

"Ser Arthur stepped in more than I ever did."

"But Arthur was not the one who stitched my cuts, washed the blood off my skin, or put ice on my bruises."

Sansa's eyes shone and she squeezed Jon's hand, and he returned the gesture. "You are one of the strongest people I have ever known Sansa," he said with as much conviction as he could into his voice.

"Thank you Jon," said Sansa quietly. "But I still want to learn how to fight."

Jon snorted as he let go of Sansa's hand and leaned back in his seat, clutching Dawn's hilt tightly before setting it against the wall closest to him. "And people said that Arya was the stubborn one," he jested.

Sansa laughed then at Jon's joke.

"I will teach you, but not today," continued Jon. "I have to go see Rhaegal soon."

"Of course," said Sansa, still smiling, but it appeared a little more forced than before.

"Oh yes, of course!" exclaimed Dany happily. She stood up then, Missandei following her lead. "Lady Sansa, would you care to join us?"

"I am sorry my queen, but I am afraid I have much stitching to do," said Sansa sadly, "Jon keeps ruining his clothes."

The other two women giggled at that, and Jon felt his face flush with embarrassment. Sansa stood up, curtsied to both Dany and Jon (much to his annoyance), and left the room then, looking every bit a Lady of Winterfell, despite the skirts she wore which were designed more for the hot, searing heat of Meereen and not the North.

"Are you coming Jon?" asked Dany when she and Missandei made their way to the solar's door.

"In a minute, I just have to put these away," said Jon, gesturing to both Longclaw and Dawn, neither of which were in their scabbards. Dany nodded and continued on her way, closing the solar door on her way out. Jon sighed and stood up from his chair, grasping the hilt of Dawn as he walked over to the mantlepiece where he usually hung the sword of Starfall.

He grabbed Longclaw and its scabbard, sliding the blade smoothly into it before buckling the weapon around his waist. When he reached up to grab Dawn's sheath, his grip on the sword slipped, and he scrambled to catch the sword before it clattered on the stone floor. He caught it, but his hand grazed along the unnaturally sharp blade, and his palm was sliced open.

A thin trail of blood streaked down the blade and Jon swore, knowing he would have to clean the sword, but to his surprise, the blood vanished, almost as if Dawn had absorbed the fluid into its pale metal. Before Jon could ponder on that though, the sword suddenly glowed a bright light the colour of fire, illuminating the entire expanse of Jon's solar.

"What the-?" said Jon in confusion as Dawn's strange light dimmed until it was no longer glowing strangely, having resumed its original white colouring.

"Interesting," muttered Jon, and he reminded himself to look through the pyramid's library for anything concerning glowing swords. He sheathed Dawn and placed it carefully atop the mantlepiece, giving the sword a peculiar look before he walked out of his solar, out the pyramid and through the streets of the great city towards the old fighting pits.

He heard Dany's dragons before he saw them, much like the first time he remembered meeting them. They were circling high above Daenerys like vultures over a rotting carcass, while the queen's entourage remained a respectable distance from her.

Rhaegal let out a screech and dove down towards Jon, landing just in front of him before chirping excitedly, nudging Jon's hand in an effort to be petted. Jon laughed and obliged the emerald dragon, stroking under Rhaegal's chin as he had discovered was his favourite place to be stroked. Rhaegal's red frills waggled along his neck and spine contentedly as Jon's continued his ministrations, and Jon looked over to see Dany smiling at the two of them.

"He is quite taken with you," she remarked when she came closer, followed closely by Viserion.

"You are not jealous, are you?" teased Jon, smirking slyly.

Dany laughed. "Of course not. My children have a cousin they are happy to play with," she said.

"Well, at least Rhaegal is. Viserion almost completely ignores me and I have yet to meet Drogon," said Jon, turning his attention back to Rhaegal, who was making a very cat-like purr.

Dany's eyes saddened at the mention of her missing black dragon, but she smiled nonetheless. "Drogon was always the most ferocious of my dragons. Rhaegal was close behind him but Viserion has always been the most gentle. Well, gentle for a dragon."

"I have heard that Drogon is Balerion come again," said Jon. "They say that his scales are as black as night and that he is larger than his brothers."

"That was all true, at least the last time I saw him it was true," said Dany.

"I see," said Jon. "May I tell you something?"

At Dany's nod, he continued. "I sometimes dream I am Rhaegal. At first, I thought they were just dreams, but then I would wake up and see that things had happened to the dragons that I would see with my own eyes."

"That sounds..." Dany seemed to struggle for words. "Odd," she settled on.

"It does. But in the North we have stories of men who could change into the skins of other animals. They were considered monsters back home in Winterfell, but they are real Beyond the Wall. I always thought it was a little hypocritical of people to think of skin changers as evil monsters, when their own liege lords have the ability to literally change their skin into a direwolf."

"It seems that Westeros is full of strange people," said Dany.

Jon snorted. "I do not disagree with you on that aunt."

Rhaegal let out a squawk and took off into the air then, leaving Jon and Dany together by themselves. Jon looked over to the small crowd of onlookers and frowned.

"Where is Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan?" he asked. He did not have to ask where Daario was, as the Second Sons had been sent to reclaim Yunkai by Daenerys the day after Jon had caught her and Daario in their compromising situation.

"I gave them the day off," said Dany.

"Is it not a little dangerous to let your best warriors out of your sight? They are your best protection," questioned Jon.

"I have Grey Worm, a dozen Unsullied guards, my dragons and you, the Sword of the Morning," retorted Dany, flashing Jon a smile.

"Of course," said Jon, and he extended his arm out for his aunt to take as they retreated back to Dany's entourage.

They chatted amongst themselves happily on the way back to the great pyramid, stopping occasionally to speak with the smallfolk. Dany explained to him that good rulers must be seen by their people, to help build trust between the two parties, and in turn the people will come to love them. Jon could not fault her logic, as Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn were always seen in public, attending to the needs of their people. He often saw Uncle Ned chatting with his men in particular, and he and his wife were the most loved rulers Jon had ever seen. Until he met Dany, that is.

They had just come into the great pyramid when they were met by a grim-faced Ser Barristan, clutching a message with its seal already broken.

The Baratheon seal.

 **Daenerys**

"Is this true?" snapped Dany, her eyes ablaze with a violet fire.

Ser Jorah hesitated, standing at the bottom of the dais with a stricken look on his face.

"It is, Khaleesi," said Ser Jorah sadly.

Dany's eyes flickered to her right side briefly when she heard a deep growl coming from the White Wolf, his red eyes glowing with unconcealed rage. The red wolf on her other side let out a small bark to calm her cousin, but the red wolf's face was pulled into a silent snarl. It made for an intimidating sight really, the petite Dragon Queen flanked on both her sides by two horse-sized wolves, one with white fur and red eyes and the other with red fur and sapphire blue eyes.

"If you would let me explain..." continued Ser Jorah, and he took a step up the dais.

Jon openly snarled now and took a step forward, snapping his jaws ferociously in warning at Ser Jorah's boldness. Dany's Unsullied guards brought their spears forward, ready for a fight, while Ser Barristan's hand went to the pommel of Pathfinder. The knight took the hint and stepped back off the dais, his head bowed in shame, and a little hint of fear. Jon let out a derisive snort before stepping back and resting on his haunches, his gaze never once leaving Ser Jorah.

"There will be no need for explaining anything," said Dany once everything had calmed down. Her voice was stern and emotionless, yet it carried through the throne room like a raging thunderstorm. "I will not take your head for betraying the crown, Ser Jorah Mormont, because of your services to me in the past."

Jon grunted and stared at Dany with what she interpreted as the wolf version of an incredulous face. He did not look happy either.

"But if I ever see your face again, I will not hesitate to have my nephew and his cousin the Lady Sansa tear you apart limb from limb," Dany finished, her proclamation echoing through the throne room. Jon snorted derisively, but did nothing, instead keeping his blood eyes on the traitor. Sansa made a small noise that made Dany think that the Stark girl did not agree with her threat.

"Get him out of my sight," ordered Dany, and two Unsullied came over to stand at Ser Jorah's side, ready to escort him away from Meereen and her side forever.

Dany tried to ignore the pain she felt in her heart at losing her oldest friend and most trusted confidant. She tried to ignore the pain of losing the one man who had been at her side since the very beginning of her ascension, she tried to ignore the pitying looks Ser Barristan and Missandei gave her. Her Bear Knight was never working for her, he only served her to spy on her and get back home to Westeros. She wasn't sure what hurt her more, the fact that she exiled him or that she knew that Ser Jorah was actually loyal to her now.

Dany stood up from her throne, and without another word, she walked out of the throne room. Jon and Sansa, still in their wolf forms, flanked either side of her as they had earlier, and Dany noted how the top of her head did not even reach Jon's shoulders. Sansa was still enormous for a wolf, yet Jon was a wolf that was truly _monstrous._ She had birthed dragons, and yet Dany could still not get over how fascinating the Starks were, with their magic. Viserys had always told her when they were children how the Targaryens had magic in their blood, which was why they were able to bend the dragons to their will, yet the only other magic Dany seemed to possess was the ability to not catch fire.

The Starks, however, were magic incarnate. There simply was no other way to describe it. It seemed that their genes were more powerful as well, for Jon looked nothing like a Targaryen and everything like a Stark. Long, dark curls and eyes so grey they looked almost black. He had the solemn face of a Stark as well, according to both Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan. Jon rarely smiled, and his shoulder were always hunched over as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Not to mention that he could transform into a direwolf. To Dany it seemed as though Jon Targaryen had the most magical blood in the entire known world.

Even in his wolf form, Dany could tell that Jon was angry with her. His hackles were raised and he walked briskly, his red eyes never once looking her way. Sansa gave a small whine, which made Jon finally look at her and Dany, but he let off a small huff and ignored them again. Dany looked up at the much taller Sansa, and the red wolf's blue eyes bored into hers.

Ser Barristan opened the door into Dany's solar, and Jon trotted into it first before he transformed back into a man.

"I would like to speak with the Queen alone," he said lowly.

Sansa bristled at Jon's curtness, but she acquiesced and led everyone out, until it was only Dany and Jon left. Dany studied her nephew carefully. His shoulders were drawn tight, and she could practically see his muscles tensing underneath the leather jerkin he wore. His left hand flexed against the pommel of Longclaw. His long curls had been pulled tightly at the back of his head, so Dany could see the annoyance in his face.

"You should not have let him go," he said, breaking the silence.

"He may have betrayed me, but he has served me well over the years," defended Dany. "It was his reward."

"He should have been executed for treason against you," argued Jon hotly. "My lord uncle wanted his head for selling people into slavery, which I might remind you is something you have fought against for a very long time."

"What would have had me do then? Have one of my men cut his head off?" snapped Dany, her anger growing now.

"I would have had you execute you himself," retorted Jon. "In the North we-"

"We are not in the North Jon!" shouted Dany and she balled her hands into fists at her side. "We are in Meereen, where my word is law!" She marched over to stand directly in front of Jon not two feet from him. She had to crane her neck backwards to glare directly into Jon's eyes, for she was much smaller than he. "I will not have this discussion anymore, Prince Jaeherys," she said vehemently.

Jon took a step back as though he had been slapped, and his face burned in shame. Her lowered his head, then bowed. "Forgive me, your grace. I spoke out of turn," he said. "It is not my place to question your decision. If you will excuse me."

Dany sighed, but let him go. Jon walked out of her solar as fast as he could. Dany then groaned once the door slammed shut and she sank down on one of her couches.

"I fucking hate being queen," she muttered darkly before helping herself to some wine.

 **Jon**

"Fucking... stubborn... Targaryens..."

Every word Jon spoke was emphasized by a smack of his practice sword against the wooden dummy as he took his anger out the best way he knew how. Chips of wood flew off the dummy with every strike, and Jon could feel the sweat practically soaking through his shirt. He growled and practically ripped the offending piece of fabric off, leaving his torso and arms exposed to the burning heat of the Meereen sun.

Jon focussed on his technique mostly, but was not afraid to allow himself to get a little clumsy as he swung the sword with as much strength as he could muster. He was so focussed on destroying the dummy that he did not know that he had an audience until he heard somebody giggle.

Jon paused mid-swing and saw several young women staring at him wide-eyed and full of lust. He lifted his head upwards to the sky and groaned. During his time in King's Landing, and even back home in Winterfell he had been forced to endure the lingering gazes and giggles of women who came to ogle at him while he trained. He went to turn away to get back to his swordplay, but paused when he saw a familiar wave of red.

"Sansa?" called out Jon, dropping his sword on the ground and pushing past the crowd of admirers to reach his cousin. Sansa turned around and gave him a brief smile, though he did not miss the way her eyes briefly darted down to his naked chest before quickly coming back up, her cheeks turning slightly red.

 _Strange,_ thought Jon, but he chose to ignore it.

"Yes my prince?" said Sansa politely, ever the lady as she curtsied.

"Please don't do that when I am dressed like this," groaned Jon, gesturing to his dirty and sweaty body. Sansa blushed, but nodded her head meekly.

"I saw you hacking away at the dummy, so I came to see how you were doing," said Sansa by way of explanation. "You only ever attack the dummies like that when you're angry."

"Ah," said Jon. "How long have you figured that out?"

Sansa shrugged. "Since we were children. Arya was actually the one who pointed it out to me years ago one day after you had gotten into a fight with Theon. Since then I've always known when you were in a bad mood." Sansa gave Jon an odd look then. "Why are you angry?"

Jon sighed. "Daenerys and I are at odds over her decision to spare Ser Jorah," he said.

"You think that the queen should have executed him," guessed Sansa.

"He betrayed my aunt. You know what your father would have done," said Jon.

"' _The man who passes the sentence swings the sword'._ My father's exact words," quoted Sansa. "But do you really think that Queen Daenerys can actually lift a sword?"

Jon snorted. "I suppose not," he said.

"Would you have been the one to take Ser Jorah's head off then?" said Sansa in a tone that reminded Jon of Lady Catelyn.

"It would have fallen to me as Dany's heir. Besides, it would not be the first time I decapitated someone," answered Jon.

"That reminds me. When are you going to teach me how to fight?" said Sansa suddenly.

"Ummm..." said Jon, and he glanced over his shoulder, back towards the training yard he was just in. The group of women had long since dispersed, and were nowhere to be seen. "How about now?" he suggested.

"N-now?" stammered Sansa. "But I'm still wearing this." She gestured to the velvet dress she was currently wearing, and Jon sighed.

"Fine. Go back and find something you can move around in quickly and easily in ten minutes," said Jon. "I'll be waiting."

Sansa nodded and transformed, sprinting as fast as she could back into the pyramid. Jon sighed again and went back to the training yard, picking the sword he had dropped earlier back up as he did so. He placed it on the sword rack before going over to a bench, where he had placed Longclaw and its sheath and belt. He buckled his beloved sword around his waist before going over to talk to Ser Barristan while putting his undershirt back on, who had been watching him from the shadows.

"What are you smiling at?" growled Jon when he came closer to see his bodyguard's smirk.

"Nothing of importance, your grace," said Barristan, still smirking. "I was just listening in to your admirers' conversation. Of course, they did not know of my existence."

Jon groaned loudly. "I do not want to hear of it Barristan," he said in annoyance.

"Of course your grace," said Barristan.

Jon then noticed the sword that was in his scabbard.

"You switched swords?" he asked, not recognizing the hilt nor the pommel.

"Ah. No, no I did not. I just had the hilt and crossguard changed to suit my style a little better," said Barristan, and he drew the sword from its sheath.

The blade was definitely Pathfinder's, Jon could tell that much. But the dragon head crossguard had been replaced with two corkscrewed pieces of steel that were bent upward in a slight U shape. The sapphire that used to be encrusted into the pommel was now set in the rain guard, and the pommel was simply a rounded piece of steel, and the grip wrapped tightly in dark brown leather.

"Simple, yet elegant," commented Jon.

Barristan shrugged dismissively before sheathing Pathfinder. "I have never been one for extravagance Jon. As long as it can get the job done, I am content."

Jon was not able to reply because Sansa came back, panting heavily in her wolf form before she transformed, and Jon had to stop his jaw from dropping at the sight. She had changed from her flowing, blue velvet dress into a leather jerkin and pants stylized to fit a woman's body, which Jon had only just noticed was exactly what Sansa had. The top of her breasts showed above the leather jerkin, and her hair had been pulled into one loose braid that flowed down her shoulder. Her arms were had not armour, exposing her pale, thin arms, yet she wore black leather braces around her forearms.

"What?" said Sansa questioningly, and Jon swallowed before ducking his head, sincerely hoping that Sansa had not caught him staring at her cleavage.

"Nothing. I was just wondering where you got that outfit," said Jon thickly.

"It's what I have been working on in our little get togethers," answered Sansa. "Did you not notice?"

"Honestly, I was too busy polishing my swords and talking to you to notice," admitted Jon shamefully.

"You and your swords," said Sansa ruefully. She straightened up then with a serious look on her face. "What are we starting with today?" she asked.

Jon glanced behind his shoulder at Barristan, who was trying to hide a smile and failing miserably. He scowled at his dutiful guard, then looked back at Sansa.

"We are going to be working on your stance, first and foremost," declared Jon, and Sansa's serious look faltered, but only briefly.

"Okay, then when do we work on actually learning how to fight?" she asked then.

"Once we have perfected your stance," said Jon patiently, and this time Sansa really did look disappointed.

"How long will that take?"

"As long as it needs to be."

Sansa rolled her eyes, but did not argue.

Jon walked around Sansa then, looking over her body as a carpenter would a piece of wood that needed carving. He was a little disappointed in how much work he had to do to get Sansa into fighting shape, for while she had curves in all the right places becoming of a woman, she had no real muscle to wield, or even lift a sword properly.

"Change of plan. First off we're going to get your strength and fitness up before we work on your sword work," said Jon.

"What does that mean?" said Sansa, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"It means that for the next hour, you are going to be lifting this sword up, holding it in place, then lowering, and repeating it until your arms are too tired. And then we'll keep going."

"What does this have to do with fighting?" snapped Sansa, looking annoyed now.

"You can't swing a sword if you are not strong enough to even lift it Sansa," replied Jon. "Ser Rodrik put Robb and I through the same paces when we were children."

"I am not a child," said Sansa vehemently.

"And yet I could probably beat you in a fight as your are now when I was eight years old," retorted Jon. "At five, I was doing this exercise until I could not even lift my arms for a whole week. At seven, I was deemed strong and fit enough to use a blunted steel sword. At seventeen I could wield a blade as if it was an extension of my own body."

"I have to do this exercise for _two years?!"_ hissed Sansa.

"Probably not," said Jon. "Your muscles are much more mature than mine were at five, so it should be much quicker for you to gain your strength."

Sansa pursed her lips, looking as though she hadn't thought of that. "Oh," was all she said.

Jon chuckled and grabbed one of the blunted swords from the rack. He came back over to Sansa and handed it to her, and she let out a startled grunt when she almost dropped it.

"How can you hold this for so long?" she grunted, hefting the blunt blade up into the air.

"Years of practice," said Jon with a shrug. "Now, you need to stand like this." He used his hands to guide Sansa's body into the right defensive stance, using his fingers to lightly push her arms and legs into position. Jon was careful to not touch her too much or for too long, and he could feel his face burning, but he did not know why. He then instructed her to lift, then lower the sword slowly over and over again until he said to stop before going over to spar with Barristan.

He occasionally shot a look Sansa's way to make sure she was still doing as he instructed correctly, and was proud to see her doing her exercises with the utmost attention. Sweat was beading and rolling down her forehead, her hair had gone darker from becoming soaked in it, and her face was red and her arms were shaking. She looked about ready to collapse from exhaustion by the time Jon said she could stop, and Sansa all but dropped the sword on the ground.

"That wasn't so bad," she said tiredly.

"You will feel it tomorrow," assured Jon, and Sansa's face fell.

"We're not doing this again, are we?" she asked.

Jon shook his head. "You wanted to learn how to fight, this is how you do it."

Barristan came over then carrying a towel, which Jon took from him and handed it Sansa so she could wipe herself clean. Just then a child came into the training yard.

"Her grace the queen requests your audience," said the child in broken Common Tongue before she ran away.

Jon and Sansa shared a look before they went back inside to the great pyramid. Looking back on it Jon thought that it would have been an odd sight to see himself and his cousin coming into the throne room sweating and stinking. Dany only looked amused at the sight, the corners of her lips quirking upwards, while Missandei ducked her head to hide her smile. Grey Worm looked as stoic as ever.

"You asked for us your grace?" said Sansa, dipping into a curtsey that made just stifle a laugh because it looked ridiculous seeing as she looked about as far from a lady as one could get.

"I did," said Dany, her voice tinged with mirth. "Come up to the dais, as your were when we exiled Ser Jorah. But stay as you are, for there is a man who would wish to speak with you."

Jon and Sansa shared a confused look before obeying Dany's instructions, walking up to the dais to stand on either side of her throne. Barristan took up his position halfway up the dais, opposite Grey Worm and his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

Dany called in the mysterious guest, and Jon's nostrils were filled with the smell of sweet oils and perfumes that almost made his eyes water. Then he saw him.

Short and thin, wearing the finest clothes money could buy, with his neatly trimmed goatee and salt and his hair that was greying at the temples. He wore that same smirk that made one think that he knew something you didn't, his eye practically sparkling as he sensed an opportunity to grasp for more power.

Petyr Baelish, or as others called him, Littlefinger, strolled into the throne room with all the charisma he had when Jon first met him back at King's Landing.

"Your grace," said Baelish in that same slimy voice that set Jon's skin to crawling. "Lady Sansa," he directed at Jon's cousin. "It does me well to see you alive and well. Though the last time I saw you, you were more fond of skirts and needles than armour and swords."

"Times change, Lord Baelish," said Sansa stiffly, and Jon internally cheered for her. She clearly did not trust him either.

"Indeed they do my lady," said Baelish.

"You forgot to give your courtesies to my nephew the prince," said Dany.

Baelish looked confused for a moment until his eyes fell upon Jon as though he were seeing him for the first time.

"My apologies your grace," said Baelish. "I did not believe the tales back in Westeros, but here it seems you believe them, even the queen."

Jon did not miss the slight, and his hand twitched towards Longclaw. So this was Baelish's plan, to divide the Targaryens against each other until they were tearing at each other's throats.

Dany seemed to pick up on it as well, for she said, "I can assure you Lord Baelish that Prince Jon is a Targaryen through and through, despite his abilities that indicate him as more of a Stark."

"How can you be so sure?" prompted Baelish as he looked at Jon as though somehow he and Sansa had tricked Dany.

"Well for one thing, he does not catch fire, and my dragons have taken to him almost as well as they have with me," said Dany.

"Ser Arthur was also there to witness Prince Jon's birth, and had us deliver Jon's birth certificate, as well as the confirmation of marriage between Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen to Queen Daenerys," added Sansa.

"I see," said Baelish. "Forgive me, my Prince. I spoke out of turn and it shall not happen again."

Jon only nodded his head towards the Vale lord, his grip on Longclaw's hilt only lessening slightly.

"What brings you here to Meereen, Lord Baelish?" asked Dany.

"To offer up my services, as well as that of the Vale's, to House Targaryen," answered Baelish.

"Last I heard, the Arryns, not the Baelishs, were the Lords Paramount of the Vale," said Dany.

"Robert Arryn is still Lord of the Vale, I can assure you your grace. But Lord Robert has sent me to represent his interests in this matter," said Baelish smoothly.

Dany shared a look with Jon before turning back to Baelish. "And what do you offer?"

"The full might of the Vale," declared Baelish.

Jon leant down so that Dany could whisper in his ear. "How powerful is the Vale armies?"

"They are one of the best in the Seven Kingdoms," answered Jon. "They have several notable commanders in their ranks including Bronze Yohn Royce and Lyn Corbray."

Dnay nodded her head and Jon straightened up. "There is no doubt a catch to all that you offer Lord Baelish?" observed Dany.

Baelish smirked, and Jon saw his eyes flicker in Sansa's direction. "Of course. But I can assure you, it is not so much of a sacrifice," he said.

"What is it you want from us?" said Dany.

Baelish's smirk grew wider. "We simply ask that Lady Sansa accompany me back to the Eyrie, where she will be fostered for a time, and hopefully we can come to an agreement of a betrothal between herself and the Lord Arryn."

Jon's whole body tensed up as Baelish's words came to meaning. He wanted to take Sansa away from Meereen, away from _him,_ to act as a pawn in whatever it was Baelish was planning.

"No, absolutely not," growled Jon, his face contorted in fury.

"Your grace, I can assure you that Lady Sansa will be taken care of to the best of my abilities. Lord Arryn is also very much excited to meet his cousin," said Baelish.

"Jon-" said Dany.

"Lord Arryn can wait until Lady Sansa comes home, with the full might of the Targaryen army behind her. Until then Lady Sansa will stay here with me. I may be a prince, but I am still Lady Sansa's sworn shield. Where she goes, I go," said Jon angrily. He could not be separated from Sansa after having endured so much together. It just was not conceivable.

"Your grace, I ask that you reconsider," said Baelish carefully. "A marriage between the Starks and the Arryns is most advantageous. With our combined forces, we could take Westeros from the Lannisters and Baratheons, and restore the North to its former glory, in the hands of the Starks instead of the Boltons."

"The Vale should have come to Robb Stark's aid as was their duty. Lysa Arryn is a Tully by birth, and her older sister Catelyn was the mother of the Stark children," snapped Jon. "Where was the Vale when Robb Stark called for aid? Where was the Vale when the King in the North, his wife, his mother and bannermen were all slaughtered by the Freys and Boltons?!"

"Jon," said Dany placatingly, resting a hand gently on his forearm.

"Many of the Vale lords wished to help your cousin in the fight against the Lannisters, but Lysa Arryn was adamant that the Vale remain neutral to keep our lands safe," explained Baelish carefully, and Jon could smell the apprehension replace the confidence he once had.

"And where was Lord Arryn during all of this? Surely he possesses more power than his own mother," said Dany.

"Lysa Arryn coddles her only son. He is a sickly child, and still feeds at her breast at ten and two years of age," said Baelish.

Jon could hear Barristan stifle a snort, and even Grey Worm looked at Littlefinger oddly. Dany raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.

"So who holds command over the Vale?" said Jon.

"At this time, I do," answered Littlefinger. "I have recently become betrothed to Lysa, and Lord Robert himself has asked that I be in charge of the Vale's affairs."

Before Jon could retort, Dany's hand on his arm squeezed tightly, and she gave him a warning look. "You have given us much to think on, Lord Baelish," she said. "I ask that you give us time to consider your proposal."

"Do not tarry too long, my Queen," said Baelish as he backed away from the dais. "My liege lord is not a patient person."

 _You mean you are not a patient person,_ thought Jon angrily.

oOoOoOo

"It is a sensible proposal," said Missandei quietly, and Jon lifted his head up to glare at the young woman, his dark curls framing his face like a shadow.

"Littlefinger cannot be trusted," said Jon vehemently. "He was in King's Landing around the same time we were, but he left prior to us. Every time I met him the wolf in me was screaming at me to kill him. I know that Lord Stark felt the same way before his death."

"Lady Stark, what of your own instincts?" asked Barristan.

Sansa looked up from the map table in surprise.

"Unfortunately I am not in touch with my wolf side as much as my cousin or siblings, Ser Barristan," confessed Sansa. "But even my instincts are telling me that he is a dangerous man."

"What do we know of Lord Baelish?" asked Dany.

Jon sighed. "Not much admittedly. But what little I _do_ know of, he is not a good man, but very cunning," he said. "He was Master of Coin under Robert Baratheon, and my lord uncle told me that many of the capital's gold had mysteriously vanished over the eighteen years of his rule."

"Most of it was lost to Robert's whoremongering and pointless tourneys and feasts," said Barristan.

"It did. But even more was lost under Littlefinger's care," replied Jon. "He is also known to own several brothels across King's Landing, and makes a fair bit of coin from it as well."

Dany looked disgusted at that bit of news. "And we are even considering the possibility of an alliance with this sort of man?" she said disgustedly.

"He is a very cunning man, your grace. Even I must admit, that he is one of the greatest players of the Game," said Barristan somberly.

"We do not need the Vale," said Jon.

"You said yourself that the Vale has one of the finest armies in the Seven Kingdoms," said Dany.

"They are. But so are the Dornish and Lannister armies," retorted Jon. "And I can think of only one of those three armies I would be willing to treat with at this time."

"Dorne," said Barristan thoughtfully.

"They hold a serious grudge against the Lannisters for what they did to Elia Martell and her children," said Dany.

"They are also the only country that did not bend the knee during Aegon's Conquest," added Sansa.

"So Dorne then," said Dany. "And what of Lord Baelish?"

"Perhaps we should consider his proposal," said Sansa. "If we have the Vale on our side, it would be one less army we would have to face when we return to Westeros."

"What?!" ground out Jon.

"Think about it Jon. If we secure an alliance with the Vale, it would increase our chances of winning, and it would add to our number for when we fight against the dead," implored Sansa.

"You are not a Targaryen. An alliance between the North and the Vale would mean nothing in swearing fealty to the dragons," challenged Jon. "The North has no real allegiance to the Targaryens."

"Your mother married Rhaegar Targaryen."

"Nobody knows that! Everyone believes that my father kidnapped and raped her, and that brought the whole realm into chaos!"

"We'll give you two some privacy," said Daenerys, and she ushered everyone out of her solar, leaving Jon and Sansa alone to continue their argument.

"Why are you so adamant in not accepting this proposal?" hissed Sansa.

"Because Littlefinger cannot be trusted!" snapped Jon. "He wants something, Sansa. And I think it is you!"

"Me? Why would he want anything to do with me?" said Sansa incredulously.

"Because he was infatuated with your mother when they were children. You know the story of how Littlefinger challenged my fath- Brandon Stark to a duel for your mother's hand, and he nearly died doing so!"

"What has that got to do with me?" asked Sansa, her face red with anger.

"Because you are apparently the spitting image of your mother at ten and seven years old! Men will often settle for second best if they can't get what they want."

"And you know this how?"

"Because I was raised a bastard, remember? Bastards grow up faster than other children. I have seen the way the man looks at you, even when we were hostages in King's Landing."

Sansa scoffed. "Oh, I'm sure that you know _so_ much about how the world works," she said mockingly.

Jon growled like a wolf. "What does your wolf say?"

"What do you mean?" said Sansa.

"You can smell the lies practically rolling off of him!" he said, feeling even more frustrated as he ran his hands through his hair that Sansa refused to listen.

"You think I don't know that?" snapped Sansa.

"Given that you refused to see Joffrey for what he was when the rest of our family could, I would think not!" yelled Jon.

Sansa growled before pouncing on Jon, transforming into the red wolf and tackling him to the ground. Jon transformed underneath Sansa and kicked her off then snarled at her as he stood up. The two wolves circled around one another slowly, their huge forms pushing furniture away. They snapped their jaws at each other, both fueled by the rage through their mental link.

Sansa moved first, catching Jon by surprise as her body slammed into him. Jon was knocked off his feet and the two crushed the couch as the fell on top of it. Sansa went straight for Jon's jugular, and if he hadn't swatted her head away with his paw her fangs would have torn his throat out. Jon was much larger than Sansa and stronger, but she was faster and more agile.

He kicked Sansa off him again before ramming her through a paper wall, then pinned her down by the neck with his front paws. But Sansa kicked at his chest with her back legs, forcing him off before she spun around and bit him on his right flank. Jon howled in anger before he twisted his body and clamped his jaws around the back of her neck, then threw her off of him. Sansa crashed into the table where Dany's council often had their meetings, and the table splintered under the red wolf's weight.

Jon's ears turned backwards when the solar door opened, and the scents of Dany, Missandei, Ser Barristan and Grey Worm filled his nostrils.

"Jon!" screamed Dany.

"Your grace!" bellowed Ser Barristan, and Jon turned his head around to see the Kingsguard push Dany and Missandei behind he and Grey Worm while drawing Pathfinder, holding it our towards Jon.

Jon turned back around just to see Sansa pounce at him again, but he sidestepped out of the way just in time, and Sansa crashed at Ser Barristan's feet. Sansa shook herself off and growled at the intruders, and then began to stalk towards them.

 _Sansa no!_ bellowed Jon mentally, having lost the bloodlust that had consumed him just prior.

Unfortunately Sansa was so caught up in herself that she completely ignored him and bared her fangs at Dany's guards. Jon snarled and jumped at Sansa, tackling her to the ground. Sansa howled and struggled to push Jon off her but Jon used all his strength to push her down to the ground. He pinned her down by her chest, and Sansa was forced to look up at Jon's blood-red eyes.

 _Enough Sansa! You are not in control of yourself!_ pleaded Jon angrily.

Sansa snarled in defiance, but Jon was forced to grab her by the throat with his teeth and lightly bite down. Sansa whimpered, and Jon could feel her body shake beneath him, and through their link he recognized that Sansa was submitting to him, albeit reluctantly. He could feel the cloud of rage dissipate in her mind, and confusion bled through their connection.

 _Jon?_ she said worriedly. _What is going on?_

 _You lost control,_ answered Jon. _Do you remember what happened?_

 _I remember you slighting me about Joffrey, but after that everything is a haze,_ said Sansa.

 _Just like when I first transformed,_ said Jon. He felt ashamed then. _I should not have said those things about you._

 _You were right though,_ said Sansa as she stood up on all fours when Jon moved off of her. He could feel the hurt she was feeling, and it shamed him even more so.

"Jon?"

He turned his head around to see Dany looking at him worriedly. "Is everything okay?"

Jon nodded his shaggy white head, then gestured towards Sansa while shaking his head. Dany seemed to understand because she nodded her head, then ordered her men to step aside.

Jon nudged Sansa's flank with his muzzle, then whined as he pushed her towards the door. Jon gave his aunt and advisors a look before following Sansa out, having to duck his head to get through the door.

He followed Sansa out into one of the many courtyards, which had a tall oak tree in the middle which provided ample shade for both wolves.

 _Sansa I-_ began Jon.

 _Save it Jon,_ said Sansa curtly.

 _I did not mean to say those things about you._

 _You may not have meant them, but that doesn't make them any less true._

Jon had nothing to say to that, and he remained silent as Sansa went to lay at the base of the tree. He watched as the light that filtered through the leaves in pockets danced along Sansa's red fur, looking like little torches on a red forest. Jon walked slowly over to Sansa and lowered his head near her's, letting out a low whine as he asked for permission to lay next to her in the shade. She let out a small growl, but eventually acquiesced and lay her head down on the ground to the side and closed her eyes. Jon walked around her to lay behind her, then rested his white head along her body, as he had seen Winterfell's hounds do.

 _I truly am sorry Sansa,_ said Jon, breaking the silence.

Sansa's blue eyes opened and she lifted her head to look at him.

 _I know you are Jon, and I forgive you. But it just hurt to be reminded of my stupidity,_ she said sadly.

 _You are not stupid Sansa,_ chided Jon. _It is not stupidity simply because you wish to see the best in everyone._

 _It is when people die for it._

 _Uncle Ned died because Joffrey broke his promise to you Sansa, when you pleaded with him to spare your father's life. There is no changing a monster._

Sansa whined, and Jon felt her shift closer to him.

 _What are we going to do about Littlefinger?_ she asked.

 _I do not want to think about that right now,_ said Jon, and he opened his mouth to yawn, exposing his wicked long fangs and long, pink tongue. He felt himself grow tired, and he rested his head again on top of Sansa's furry shoulder, before sleep claimed him.

Such was how Daenerys and Ser Barristan found the two wolves, asleep under the oak tree cuddled together.

oOoOoOo

"Do not do this aunt, I beg you!" pleaded Jon.

"I cannot put the lives of my people at risk because my dragons cannot be controlled," said Dany, undeterred in her decision.

" _Drogon_ cannot be controlled, Rhaegal and Viserion listen to their mother," corrected Jon.

"Rhaegal listens to you more than he does me," said Dany. "But that does not give you authority over my children. My decision is final."

"So you are going to lock away Rhaegal and Viserion because Drogon is out who knows where terrorizing farmers," challenged Jon.

Daenerys gave Jon a hard look and crossed over till she was standing directly in front of him. "Last I remember, you rejected being the King, solidifying my claim to the Iron Throne," she said in a deadly calm voice.

"And I stand by that Daenerys. But a mother should never lock her children away," said Jon solemnly. "We both know what it is like to live without a mother. Do you really want that for Rhaegal and Viserion?"

Dany sighed, and Jon's eyes followed her as she turned away to stand outside on the balcony of her solar. His eyes glanced around the solar, looking at the still-destroyed furniture after his and Sansa's skirmish before he followed his aunt outside to stand beside her.

"No, I do not want that for my children," admitted Dany. "But what choice do I have? They are a threat to my people, no matter how well-behaved Rhaegal and Viserion are."

"Dragons, like wolves, do not belong in cages," insisted Jon. "Did your brother ever tell you about what happened to the Targaryen's dragons? Why they died out?"

"Viserys said that they all died during the Dance of Dragons," said Dany.

"Aye, the big ones did anyway," said Jon with a nod of his head. The rest died because they were treated as pets and kept within the walls of the Red Keep and the Dragon Pit, and their growth was stunted to the point where they did not grow any larger than a house cat.

"The dragons died out because they were prisoners."

"Their imprisonment will not be permanent Jon," said Dany.

"Then how long?" asked Jon. "A week? A month? A year? They might not grow to be large enough to make much of a difference when we take back Westeros."

Dany sighed. "My decision is final. You may come with me to take Rhaegal and Viserion to the catacombs under the great pyramid and say your goodbyes to them there," she said, and Jon could hear the sadness in her voice.

"As you command, your grace," said Jon, bowing low before he left the solar to find Rhaegal.

He was accompanied by Ser Barristan, Sansa and a score of Unsullied guards to the fighting pit, and Rhaegal flew down from his perch, screeching in welcome to Jon. Jon smiled sadly at the green dragon and quietly asked that he be given a moment alone with the dragon named after his true father.

He scratched under Rhaegal's chin and down his neck for several minutes. "I'm going to miss you boy," whispered Jon as one would to his loyal dog. Rhaegal seemed to sense something was amiss, because he nudged Jon's hand questioningly. "It's alright Rhaegal. Your mother is only doing this because she loves you."

The words tasted as bitter as they sounded.

Dany eventually came, and she and Jon together led the two dragons through the city and into the catacombs, where the dragons flew over to some lamb carcasses, where they roasted the meat and began to devour it. Jon saw the huge chains next to the carcasses, and his ire grew towards his aunt. He remained behind at the entrance while Dany descended the steps, for he wanted no part in imprisoning the dragons. He thought it was Dany's burden to bear.

Every scrape of metal against the stone as Dany bound the dragons to the chains made Jon's skin crawl, and it reminded him of his imprisonment by the Lannisters. Every beating, whipping and insult came to the forefront of his mind, and he closed his eyes to fight off the memories.

He opened them again when Dany came back, her eyes filled with tears, and both of the Targaryens looked back as Rhaegal and Viserion started to screech and pull at their chains to reach their mother.

The cries of the dragons continued to echo in Jon's ears as the Unsullied warriors pushed the tombstone over the hole.

 _A/N- How fucking good has season 7 been so far?!_

 _Next Chapter, the Sons of the Harpy, and Jon confronts Littlefinger. Also Ser Barristan's sword now closely resembles Boromir's sword in the Lord of the Rings, though the blade is much longer and thinner._


End file.
